


The Eclipse and (His) Other Celestial Events

by hanschen



Category: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanschen/pseuds/hanschen
Summary: When the show ended prematurely in 2021, the Fab Five promised to stay in touch. That was a lie.They promised to always love each other and stay friends. That was not a lie.When Antoni goes missing, the remaining four reunite to comb their memories for where he might be, how they might save him, and when they all began to lose track of each other.Sometimes all it takes to rekindle friendship is a little tragedy and a quick trip across the cosmos.
Comments: 46
Kudos: 107





	1. Prologue: (Staring at a) Solar Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> Hey QEFTSG fandom! You can call me John Mulaney cuz I'm NEW IN TOWN.
> 
> This will be Tan/Antoni probably, but not tangible til later. For now it's only if you squint.  
> If you're looking for sex scenes go elsewhere.  
> If you comment to try to correct any of the astrology/astronomy gibberish then so help me I'll kick your butt while blasting "It's a Metaphor, Fool" by Say Anything.

_"A solar eclipse occurs when a portion of the Earth is engulfed in a shadow cast by the Moon which fully or partially blocks sunlight. This occurs when the Sun, Moon and Earth are aligned. Such alignment coincides with a new moon indicating the Moon is closest to the ecliptic plane." - Wikipedia_

_"And all you create and all you destroy_   
_And all that you do and all that you say_   
_And all that you eat and everyone you meet_   
_And all that you slight and everyone you fight_   
_And all that is now and all that is gone_   
_And all that's to come and everything under the sun is in tune_   
_But the sun is eclipsed by the moon." - Pink Floyd_

\-----------------*-------------------

**Los Angeles, CA**

When Dewey wants Bobby’s attention while he’s working, first he will say from another room, “Hon.” It’s not a question, and it’s not angry, it just has a nice dark little period on the end of it. But then he says something else, as he’s approaching Bobby’s home office, and this second statement is where the tone of the conversation is. Bobby has known and loved Dewey for long enough that he knows the second statement could only be one of these four words, meaning the following:  
1.) “Babe!” He just wants to chat about something. It’s not important. It’s probably what he picked up at the farmer’s market that day. Bobby is allowed to defer this, as long as he remembers to come back to it later.  
2.) A second “Hon!” a little more insistent. This is probably something that needs repair—an appliance not doing what it should, the molding in the foyer is showing signs of warping again. Bobby usually stops what he’s doing to talk about it.  
3.) “Bobby!” With a rhythmic tilt to it, as he’s walking. This doesn’t happen often, but it usually means sex.  
4.) “Bobby.” With a period, when he reaches the office. Bad news. It only happened twice, when their basement flooded and when Dewey’s mom passed. Bobby braces himself and shuts his laptop.  
Number 4.) was what Dewey used before he told Bobby that Antoni Porowski had gone missing.

  
\---

**Los Angeles, CA**

Karamo was told in such an organized fashion. He was told in a way, with no love, almost like an accusation. Now, Karamo Brown is smart enough to have never been fooled in the first place into believing that the people who surround him at cocktail parties were actually his friends. Of course they want something. But that’s fine. It’s understandable, actually. He’s at a place in his life where he has nearly everything he could want—residual money from Queer Eye that only slowly stacks up since it ended, a loving husband, two houses, a YouTube series all to himself in which he talks things out with various reality stars via webcam, and the control over this series that says he can end whenever he pleases (and he might just do so in the next week, because he noticed it’s starting to become a little more stress than fun, and why bother in that case? It’s just YouTube.)

So he doesn’t mind when someone wants something innocent, such as an autograph, a shoutout to someone on the phone, advice on a breakup, even a round of drinks. It’s when someone attacks him, trying to find a weak spot, that Karamo lashes out a little bit. Envy is a destroyer of dreams, he says sometimes, and it’s equally destructive to his mood. 

  
When he entered the kitchen of LeBron James’ Los Angeles mansion, Karamo absentmindedly poured himself a second rum and coke while checking in for his flight back home. When he opened his phone, he saw a _See you tomorrow, can’t wait_ text from Ian. Warmth flooded his insides, more so than any alcohol ever could. He was about to shoot back a _Love & miss u_, but decided to take a second to let himself feel all the love. There were so many missed opportunities in his youth, that he decided whenever he felt a flood of warmth for his husband, he would take a second and think of nothing but how lovely the feeling of love is. 

  
“Oh shit yeah, aren’t those lights fucking awesome? L.B. got the shades imported from Italy. He’s got a glassmaker there. Isn’t there a word for that? Atelier or something? Glassblower?” Karamo’s interruption was some sort of sports reporter that he had definitely met that night, but whose name he didn’t care to remember after he heard the man bragging about how many cheerleaders’ numbers he had saved in his phone.  
Karamo adjusted his tone when he realized annoyance had completely replaced love. He didn’t want to be rude but he also didn’t want to seem welcoming. “Glass blower would be if they were blowing glass, which I’m not sure is the case all the time.”

  
“Dude, I gotta say, I admire that you’re even out and partying now, with the news and all.”

  
Karamo did not want to give this guy the full satisfaction, so he stirred his drink to avoid eye contact as he asked, “What news would that be?”

  
“Your friend is missing.”

  
Something, a neuron, a heartbeat, a memory, made Karamo look up. Something, maybe a premonition, told him this was serious. But something else, pride most likely, made him just say, “I’ve got a lot of friends.”

  
“Your friend from your show.”

  
His heart rate picked up. Karamo took a breath before speaking, willing it to go back down. “I’ve got a lot of friends from a lot of shows.”

  
“The food one. Anthony something? Oh shit, you didn’t hear?” This last question was filled with glee.

  
And normally Karamo would let it go, but he was filled immediately with a rage. Rage at the happiness this man felt being the first to deliver bad news, rage at the news itself, rage at someone for having the nerve to call him Anthony, and rage at himself for only realizing that just now was the first he’d though of Antoni in at least a month. “Is this good news to you?”

  
“What? Ah, no, man, sorry, it’s just--- you know like, a nervous smile thing. Funeral giggles. I hope he’s okay, really. Do you know where he might be?”

  
“Why would I know where he is? Do you think all gay men keep tabs on each other nonstop? That we have nothing else to do but gossip?”

  
“I—no—of course not, I’m not like that—”

  
“And who are you to say I did or did not know? What if I came out here just trying to have a good time, between running from publicity event to marketing ploy and in between, having to hear devastating news? And you, with your unbridled enthusiasm in wrecking that night? Does it satisfy you to know that it worked? That you ruined my mood? Possibly my whole night?”

  
“No it doesn’t SATISFY me why would it— listen, I—didn’t mean…” The guy was turning red. Karamo had already tired him out. Now he would gravely injure him, making sure he didn’t get back up. 

  
“I understand that the trend in media of getting sick entertainment out of the tragedy of gay men is not something you yourself caused, but it’s definitely something you should take a step back and analyze. What could you be lacking in your own life that means that you sought me out in here to deliver this news, and consider that to be part of having a good time here tonight?”

  
The reporter had started making himself a drink, spilling a bit of Grey Goose on his sleeve. Karamo considered his kill shot. Should it be attacking him for not having a reporter’s ability to talk his way out, rendering his career useless? Should he figure out how many times he can use the word homophobic in a single sentence? Should he threaten to call him out on it the next time he gets in front of a camera?

  
These were all good options. And there were so many more. He felt so overwhelmed with good options that he couldn’t pick one. He also felt overwhelmed in general. Karamo felt his face. There was a tear. He wiped his face quickly and got out of there. The last thing he needed was someone filming him crying. He called his Uber and had to suppress his instinct to run outside. Someone, probably LeBron, called out to him, and dashed over to catch up. He reached over to grab Karamo’s arm, but Karamo shrugged him off, and struggled out a “I’ll call you later man, your house is beautiful, thank you for the company.”   
Thankfully, he only had to fight the tears for another minute of standing outside before his Uber came. And when he got in the back, the tears ran down his face as he muttered out a “Hello, how are you?” to the driver. And because you should never suppress these extreme feelings, just let them take over, Karamo spent the rest of the ride back to his hotel sobbing to Ian on the phone (and another five minutes in the parking lot).

  
\---

**San Francisco, CA**

See, here’s the thing, Jonathan never really lost touch with Antoni, not really. Whenever they were in the same city, they always met up, and got wine together (Antoni always ordered, and he always liked to pretend he forgot that Jonathan doesn’t even really like rose’ that much, so he can order a fancy rose’ and talk about it too much) and sometimes cried about how the fab five as a group were drifting apart. 

  
Now granted, this had been happening less and less, and it broke Jonathan’s heart! A lot did, so that wasn’t saying too much, but whenever they did meet up, it was like no time had passed. Jonathan didn’t want to force anything. He was not a forcer. No sir (or no ma’am, or no whatever you want.)   
So he figured Antoni was going through something personal, and that’s why he didn’t respond when he called for their once-a-week-as-contractually-obligated-no-I-mean-literally-they-wrote-up-and-signed-a-contract Facetime session. Maybe something was wrong with his corgi, Jamón. (One time, Jamón ate a bunch of rubber bands, and they passed in his poo, but Antoni still went into hibernation for three days).

  
Or maybe he had found a new man, and that’s why he didn’t respond to the last three messages Jonathan sent him on Instagram: one was a borzoi appearing to be saying hello, one was a toddler delightfully messing up the Canadian national anthem, and one was a video showing how to make something called “slutty croissant bars.” (Four messages then, if you count the caption Jon sent with it, “WILL YOU PLEASE MAKE ME THESE FOR ME IMMEDIATELY IF NOT BEFORE!!!”)

  
Or maybe he was writing his third cookbook (what could it be about, Jonathan wondered? Just Polish foods this time? That’s what he was always threatening, and it’s what Jonathan had always called boring, but he hoped Antoni didn’t take him seriously when said that, and if Jonathan had one wish, right now, it would be that he would give Antoni the confidence to write his Polish-only cookbook!), and that’s why he didn’t respond to any of the eight times Jonathan called him that week.

Still, Jonathan convinced himself not to worry (because worrying makes him prone to breakouts. With a fourth national stand-up tour about to happen, there is no need to add to the breakout potential).

  
But when he went back to Antoni’s insta profile to send a fourth message (a dachshund getting rolled into a burrito, if you were wondering), he saw that it had been deleted.

  
Jonathan knew, instantly, that something was wrong. He threw his phone on the bed and threw himself into child’s pose immediately to stave off the panic attack. But it was too late. He started hyperventilating. 

  
He grabbed his phone and ran circles around his unmade bed while he shot off the World’s Messiest Text to his assistant Julie: **Julie there is soemthng wrong with Antoni I can just feel it and I think it’s erious so please if you could just plz stop what you’r doing and find out where he is and what’s wrong, I need to know ASAP**

  
A second text, seven seconds later: **If he is in NYC and needs help then could you also book me a flight to there tonite and cancel my show tonite. This man is a priority for me and he needs to know that**

  
A third text, thirty seconds later: **I like jetblue and all and you know that I’m sorry but it als odoesnt have to be jb I just want to be able to get there NOW**

  
A fourth, five seconds later: **thank you you’re my favorite**

  
A fifth, five minutes, ten bed circles, and one glass of mineral water later: **I feel better now, just getting that out of my system. You honestly don’t have to rush. Sorry it seemed so frantic but you know how I get. I even tried my child’s pose and my deep breathing but it didn’t work. Did you check on my Xanax refill? I think it might be time, lol. Please don’t quit JULIE I NEED YOU LOL But at your leisure, could you still look up my bb Ant? I’m lowkey still worried. But I am sure he’s just being moody**

Julie responded, just as he was done typing out that last sentence of his fifth message: **I’m going to call you. Are you sitting down?**

\------

**Salt Lake City, UT**

No one told Tan.   
Well, no one important to him.

He was in the gym. The gym had become a happy place over the past month. One of the only places where he had total control. 

He knew in the back of his mind that he should be addressing the sudden exercise obsession with his therapist, but there was a lot of more pressing things to address. And his therapist only had so many hours in a week.

Tan had gotten some glee out of the fact that regular hikes with ~~Rob~~ used to be a struggle. Now he could run further and faster than ever before. 

Did his calves throb with every stride? Yes.

Was sweat threatening to bring down his immaculate hair? Yes. 

The other day, when he got out of bed for his morning tea, did his legs actually collapse under him, and stay collapsed for four whole minutes? Yes.

Did he feel weak? No.

And that was what was important.

He had his headphones in, listening to a ~~divorce~~ podcast on NPR as he upped the treadmill another setting, nearly at max. He could really only listen to this topic while running. Did we mention the control thing?

He also half-watched the E! News his apartment’s gym had on. This apartment was temporary, and he was grateful for how empty he was. If someone came on, they were inevitably going to recognize him as a new neighbor.

Imagine having to meet someone while looking that sweaty and wearing leggings with mesh panels, a trend from 2019? 

No thank you.

So even though no one was around, to be sure, he kept his eyes glued to the screen. It wrapped up something about Lindsay Lohan’s supposed comeback, and Antoni’s face flashed across the screen. 

Tan snorted, recognizing the photo as one of his thirst pics from Instagram. What could this be about? Was Antoni in a new relationship? Starring in a cooking show, maybe?

Tan listened to the last thought on the podcast, then pulled out one earbud to hear something about “His Instagram, along with his Facebook profile, seem to have been deleted without a trace.”

Tan slowed the treadmill down by just one speed, wanting to hear, but not wanting to slow down.

The news snippet ended, with simply, “New York City police are urging anyone to come forward if they have any information on Porowski’s whereabouts.”

Then it switched to something about Gary Busey’s sex life.

Tan betrayed no emotion. He made sure of it. 

He slowed his treadmill to a stop over the next two minutes. Then he packed up his airpods. He gave himself and the treadmill a quick wipe down.   
Then he went to the locker room, where he quickly vomited before excusing himself back upstairs to get no sleep.


	2. Autumnal Equinox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *plays the "Gettin The Band Back Together" musical in the background*
> 
> Bless you if you're reading this.  
> You're the reason for the season.  
> Actually, seasons are caused by the tilt of the Earth's rotational axis away or toward the sun as it travels through its yearly orbital. But you get the gist.

_"September equinox is the moment when the Sun appears to cross the celestial equator, heading southward. Due to differences between the calendar year and the tropical year, the September equinox can occur at any time between September 21 and 24.The equinox may be taken to mark the end of summer and the beginning of autumn (autumnal equinox) in the Northern Hemisphere, while marking the end of winter and the start of spring (vernal equinox) in the Southern Hemisphere." - Wikipedia_

_I'm your emergency_   
_Break down the front door for me_   
_Think about my perfect life_   
_With the windows down, I am driving_   
_to a red suburban house_   
_Round ocean floating on a memory_   
_Of a time when life was green_   
_Reality is just a dream_   
_I want to build your sunshine_   
_And operate your breathing_

_\- "Electric Car" by Mars Argo_

* * *

**Official Fab Five Group Text**

**Los Angeles, CA/San Francisco, CA/Salt Lake City, UT/New York City, NY, hopefully**

This story takes place in the day of the iPhone. If you could imagine everything you see below in different bubbles, and imagine you were Antoni Porowski, and imagine you were safe somewhere with the ability to look at your iPhone, here is what you would see below, starting at 11:55pm (Eastern Standard Time), on October 17th, 2022:

Jonathan:  
I can’t be the only one freaking out right now

Jonathan:  
Hello? is this thing on? Are we all met? I need everyone to answer ASAP because I’m not being dramatic this time. This is pretty serious. It’s on fucking CNN. Answer this group text right now please

Bobby:  
I’m here, babe

Bobby:  
It’s gonna be ok

Jonathan:  
I can’t remember the last time I was this scared

Karamo:  
I haven’t been able to keep up w the news, anyone kno how long he’s been gone

Bobby:  
Just since this morning; he didn’t show up to a work meeting this morning and wasn’t seen on camera entering his apartment at any point

Bobby:  
his cell was traced back to a club he was seen going to last night but they don’t have any cameras on the back entrance for some reason

Jonathan:  
FUCK THAT

Tan:  
That seems illegal ?

Jonathan:  
Tan I just want to take a second to say I’m so sorry that this is the first time we've talked in like how long? SIX MONTHS? I should have texted you when I was in UT on tour. Im so sorry it had to be like this

Tan:  
I love you too

Karamo:  
Thank u bobby for staying informed

Jonathan:  
Yes thank you from the bottom of my heart. I cant open anything, I just start crying

Jonathan:  
I literally cant sleep or think of anything else

Bobby:  
Karamo where are you? Still LA?

Karamo:  
Yeah I have a flight tomorrow but I feel like I shouldn’t take it

Karamo:  
Don’t know where else to go

Jonathan:  
I know, its like nowhere feels right, but doing nothing seems wrong too

Bobby:  
You can come stay at my place just to have someone to talk to if you need

Karamo:  
Text me ur address. Ill be there tonite. Thank u

Jonathan:  
Can I come please

Jonathan:  
Please I honestly feel like I’m losing my mind

Bobby:  
Yes of course.

Jonathan:  
Tan you should join us if you feel like you need us but I also get it if Rob is enough rn plus you’re out there

Tan:  
I’m coming too.

Bobby:  
Wonder if we should go to NYC instead?

Karamo:  
Police are on top of it there

Bobby:  
Right

Bobby:  
Duh

Bobby:  
Sorry. I think I had this crazy vision in my head of playing detective. Busting in somewhere. Saving his life. Fireworks maybe?

Bobby:  
Ridic. I know. But keeps me going?

Karamo:  
Haha. Love you. Buildings exploding behind us too? Carrying him out like a damsel?

Jonathan:  
I’ll do the carrying. I’ll do it

Jonathan:  
I'll start lifting weights now

Tan:  
I think if he were here, he’d decline

Jonathan:  
If he were here he would carry ME away from a burning building

Bobby:  
carry someone else out of his own crisis lol

Tan:  
Should we take him off this group text?

Tan:  
Like in case someone is trying to reach him on this phone and it’s blowing up?

Tan:  
I just didn’t want to get in the way of an investigation

Tan:  
Is that nasty? Guys I’m sorry. I just meant maybe. Idk.

Tan:  
If he’s in a position where he can read this, then maybe. He wants to be left alone.

Jonathan:  
He did not disappear willingly.

Tan:  
How can we know that

Jonathan:  
I know.

Jonathan:  
Antoni if you’re reading this and you disappeared without a trace on purpose just know that I’m gonna chop your nuts off for worrying me like this

Tan:  
If you’re reading this and you’re not Antoni I’m gonna do more than chop your nuts off

Jonathan:  
THAT’S A FACT

Karamo:  
On same note, not sure u should b sending his phone threats babes. In case police find ?

Jonathan:  
OH SHIT I’M SORRY THAT WASN’T REAL! POLICE MAN WHEN YOU FIND HIS PHONE! IT’S A JOKE!

Bobby:  
Police already found his phone.

Bobby:  
Wiped clean of photos and texts and stuff

Jonathan: **  
**Goddammit

Jonathan:  
I’m crying again this is so scary.

Jonathan:  
I’m packing my bag right now

Karamo:  
I’ll get an uber in ten

Tan:  
Booking a red eye now

Bobby:  
Much love

Karamo:  
Thank u. thank u all

Tan:  
xo

Bobby:  
See y’all soon

Jonathan:  
THAT INCLUDES YOU ANTONI. SEE YOU SOON TOO

**\--------*--------**

**Sweet Laurel Bakery**

**Los Angeles, CA**

Tan had his Uber come straight to the bakery from LAX. He could have killed time at a Starbucks or Brooks Brothers or something in the airport, but he knew he wanted to get to there early. Normally, at a place like Sweet Laurel Bakery, it would be to give himself enough time to pick out the actual buffet of desserts he had planned. But today, it’s because he knew himself and his aura, and he knew that if he, Tan France, came marching up to you, full speed, with a Louis Vuitton trunk suitcase and lavender-colored trench coat on, you would listen.

The bakery girl saw him and lit up. Before she could say some sort of compliment or even straighten out her hideous Forever 21 headband, Tan handed her a fifty dollar bill. “This is for you, to promise you do not say one word to me or my three friends—coming shortly-- about the news. Nothing about the show either. Just take our orders. Say the specials, if we ask. If you see someone coming up to us, you intercept. If you succeed, I will also tip you like you have never been tipped before. Now, what’s your name?”

“…”

“Quickly now-“

“Oh, I, sorry, Michelle.”

“Michelle, my belle. We need this to be private. We have a lot to talk about. Do you understand?”

“I think the private event room is open… we have a birthday party at four, but—”

“We’ll be out by noon.” Tan marched past her toward the only door he saw.

He didn’t stop when he heard, “How are you earlier than me? Are you still Tan France?”

“Bobby. Don’t stop. Follow me.”

“Can you wait for one—”

“No waiting. Come back here right away.”

When they both arrived in the little room that Tan would recognize as quaint and in a lovely Seattle-sky-pastel palette, were matters not so pressing, a couple girls in aprons and bandannas were arranging empty cupcake display platters in a certain pattern. They saw Tan and Bobby walk in, took a second to recognize them, and then started muttering something about coming back later. Before any full sentence was formed, Tan said, “Please! And thank you! And a plain latte with sugar on the side whenever anybody has a minute!”

They scurried out. Tan turned to Bobby. “I’m sorry, how rude, what did you want?”

Bobby tucked his head out the door behind the women and said, softly, “Make it two, but take your time. Please. And thank you. And sorry.” He came back in and started to say something when Tan interrupted him.

“When is everyone getting here again? I don’t even know where we left off. I just came when I got off the flight. Did everyone give an ETA? Let me check—”

“Tan France,” Bobby grabbed his shoulders and turned him so they were facing. Tan stared up at the ceiling, directly into the warmest light bulbs he assumed Home Depot could provide. “Number one: breathe.”

“I’ve been breathing. I’m fine. There’s just a lot to get done.”

“Number two:… number two, okay, is how much I missed you saying _done._ Your little voice, god, I missed you. Can we please hug? Please, before I fall to pieces.” Bobby embraced Tan. Tan wanted to make it quick but knew there was not a chance of that happening with a Midwesterner, so he decided this ten seconds of rest was allowed. “Number three, where are you staying? Do you need one of my rooms?”

Tan broke free and sat on his suitcase. As he talked, Bobby pulled out a chair and somehow coaxed Tan onto the chair and out of his trench without making eye contact or saying anything. “I booked at some sort of Marriott, but it’s not really my first choice. It was all that shitty airport wifi would let me get to. Says a lot about their security at the Marriotts. What’s the plural of Marriott? That’s it, right? I would stay at my new house here but it’s still getting built.”

Bobby grabbed two incoming lattes, sending a million thank yous with his bright blue eyes at the waitress, and gently put one in Tan’s free hand. “You have a house out here now? Why didn’t I know about this? When is it done?”

“Bobby, my friend, as soon as it’s done—I have the layout all figured out—you simply must come in and do the interior. I will pay whatever it takes.”

“Don't worry about the money, but… you and Rob aren’t moving from Salt Lake, are you? Did he get something out here? I remember once you said that to move, you’d both have to—”

“Excuse me? Miss? Any miss?” Tan popped out of his chair and poked his head out the door. “Could you also bring some coffee cake? Any kind. All kinds. I’m absolutely starving. Bobby, do you want something like a croissant? Does that sound-- HEY!”

Bobby snatched Tan’s phone and held it over his head.

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s very fair. You got that hair, I got the actual height. These things balance out.” Bobby held back Tan with his other hand, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Honey, you gotta slow down. Jonathan will be here any minute, and his energy is going to match yours. I already feel a little close to cracking, and two of you like this will be what pushes me over the edge. And not in a cathartic way, in like a 2008 Britney Spears way. So please. Sit here. Take a drink.”

Tan muttered protests but sat down, crossed his legs stiffly, and held his latte up to his mouth (but did not sip). “I’m here. I’m sitting.”

“You’re moving out here?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Can you make it quick?”

“You can’t tell the others.”

“What? Oh no. Let’s not do that. There’s too much happening right now that we just don’t know about.”

“I will tell them. They will find out. I just can’t right now.

“Tan, there’s so much to get through already… we might as well just add to this to the list. Whatever it is. What’s happening? Did something happen to you guys in Utah? To the house?”

“The house is fine. Let’s say this is a matter of convenience. For me.”

“You mean… he finally agreed to come out here? Just like that? What changed his mind?”

“Good question. I’ve been asking myself that for quite some time.”

“I… what? Hon, what happened? Did he lose his job? Did you lose… one of your jobs? All of them?”

“Me? Lose a job?”

“Right, forget that one. Did he even agree to come out here?”

“No.”

“Then what’s…” It dawned on him. Tan had to look up at the ceiling again, unwilling to see whatever emotion was on Bobby's face. “Tan. No way.”

“Don’t. Tell. The. Others.”

“But what happened? What did you do?!”

“Why are you so sure it was something I did?”

“I… no, that came out wrong. Hold on, I’m sorry. But I just meant… well then, what happened? I never would have suspected that you two would have any problems, let alone...”

“Neither would I.”

“Then what happened?”

“Something happened?” In one Moroccanoil-scented gust of air, Jonathan swooped into the room, wrapped one arm around Bobby from behind, and reached out to grab Tan’s hand. “Updates? Tell me you have an update. If you don’t, I will burst into tears. Like literally pop and just turn into a cloud of vapor. Which I am already, pretty much.”

“There is actually an update,” Bobby said.

“Tell us, please, quickly,” Tan said, putting down his drink to hold Jonathan’s hand with both of his.

“I will, and then you’re going to also tell us an update, right?”

“No. Just you, Bobby. I don’t have anything.” Tan stroked the bell sleeve on Jonathan's cream-colored button down. “This is lovely, dear.”

Jonathan didn't relinquish his hold on Tan's hand. He searched Tan's face for the answer to a hundred questions, coming up with no answers, and said after a few seconds, quietly, “It's from Anthropologie.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Tan! Yes, you do.”

Through gritted teeth, Tan said, “You know I’m not watching the news right now.”

Jonathan stood up, still with a hand on both of the men. “Okay, what’s happening, for real.”

Bobby stared at Tan hard. Not looking away, he said, “There was new footage found of Antoni going into his gym. After the club. On the night of October 16th.”

Jonathan let go of them to stroke his silky ponytail. “… But not leaving?”

“No. Which means they think IF he was abducted, it was by someone who knows his apartment well enough to know where there are no cameras.”

Tan’s teeth were still gritted. “Oh hell.”

“Is there news?” Karamo entered, baseball cap riding so low and tight on his head that it was nearly on top of his eyes. “It doesn’t sound good.”

“New camera footage,” Bobby started.

“The gym thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. That’s it?”

Jonathan now spoke from where he stood, clutching Karamo so hard that he was nearly fused with Karamo’s hoodie. “You two are honestly so brave. I can’t even bear to look at any social media. I feel like it’s gonna say something terrible any second. Like if I don’t look then…” He was crying at this point. Karamo returned the clutching. “I told you I was gonna become one giant gay tear cloud.”

“I feel the same,” Bobby said. “But somehow the opposite? Like if I don’t check every update, if I miss something, then that’s gonna cause his-“

“Don’t say it!” Jonathan and Tan called at the same time. Then Jonathan continued crying, and Tan crossed his leg firmly, turning his attention back to his latte.

“What about you, Tanny? How you holding up?” Karamo asked.

“I’m fine. I’m actually fine.”

“Yeah?” Karamo let go of Jonathan, who then latched on to Bobby's neck like if he wasn’t holding someone, he would fall apart. Karamo went over to put a hand on his Tan’s shoulder. Tan jumped. “Sorry, babe. Should have asked.”

“Tan has more updates,” Bobby announced, loud enough to echo off the fake-vintage chairs.

Karamo looked at Tan, but Tan shook his head. “No. Nothing. I have nothing to share.”

“Tan, if you hold everything in, you’re gonna get an ulcer. Frankly, I’m a little hurt you didn’t tell me sooner, so maybe I’m being pissy, but I’m also not interested in holding your secrets.” Bobby brought his coffee to his lips for the first time. “Maybe if there were fewer secrets, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“That makes no sense,” Jonathan looked at Bobby like he was a little nuts, but didn’t release him. “Antoni and I don’t have secrets. We don’t talk twenty-four-seven anymore. But we don’t have secrets.”

Bobby rubbed Jonathan’s wrist. “Everyone has secrets, Jonny.”

“No, don’t you get it? Are we talking about the same person? We know him and he knows himself. If he had a secret that would make him want to disappear, he would ask me for help. Or one of us. You!” Jonathan pointed to Tan. “He would ask you for help. He didn’t, right? Tan? He didn’t ask you, right?”

No answer.

Jonathan gasped. “TAN. DID ANTONI ASK YOU FOR HELP?”

“No! He wouldn’t, anyway.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Karamo stood over Tan. Tan pretended he wasn’t intimidated by being loomed over. He had good practice doing that. He merely sipped his drink, sad it was almost gone, as he was running out of things to distract his shaking hands with. “What changed to mean he wouldn’t go to you for help? What changed the last time you talked? Did anything change? Do you remember?”

“What makes you sure the last time we talked that he was the one that needed help?” Tan’s answer surprised himself. That was more than he meant to reveal at that moment. Karamo could get information out of him like no other, without even trying, it seemed. Even after nearly a year apart. 

“Has it been a year since we’ve seen each other, Karamo?”

“Yes. What’s been going on with you since then?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Karamo repeated, almost laughing.

“Am I being funny to you right now?”

“Careful, Karamo,” Bobby said.

“There is no such thing as an invalid emotion. If we can’t share what’s on our minds, maybe we can laugh.”

“I can do the first but I can’t do the second,” Jonathan muttered.

“You’ll be better off in the long run, Jonathan. It’s much healthier to be able to share your feelings as they happen.”

“I don’t feel healthy right now.”

“Understandable," Karamo pivoted to look at Tan again. “Tan, do you feel healthy right now?”

“Don't shrink me, Karamo. I feel fine.” Tan looked at Bobby. “There are some things that are just a little hard to say out loud right now and I'd rather not force them.”

Bobby reached out to hold his hand. “Do you want me to say it?”

Caught off guard by that gentle answer, Tan's mouth dropped for a few seconds. He shook his head and retracted his hands. “No. No one can say it. Not you. Especially not me.”

“Why not?”

“Because bad things happen when I say it.”

“Bad things happen when you _don’t_ say it,” Karamo said. “You have papers to sign soon, don’t you? What's the limit in Utah? Twenty-one days? Fourteen?”

Tan turned the color of the pale amber lights above them. Karamo REALLY had not lost his touch. Maybe he had become telepathic. This wasn't shocking, more just the natural next step of his skill set. Tan cleared his throat. “When this is all said and done, I’m firing my publicist. She’s obviously doing nothing to keep things under wraps.”

Jonathan gasped when he understood. “Oh, Tan. No. Tanny! Not Rob! Not you guys! You can’t get di-“

Tan grabbed Jonathan’s shirt collar. “Hon. I love you. I love this top. Don’t make me wrinkle it. Don’t say the word.” Jonathan looked less startled that he was being grabbed, more just concerned for Tan. It made Tan want to hold on to Jonathan forever, and also let go and never touch him or hurt him again. He chose the latter, just for the sake of saving time. When the fuck would people stop being so nice to him?

“Why can’t he say the word, Tan?” Karamo asked, looming more than ever before.

“No one can say the word.”

“Because then it won’t happen, will it?”

“NO! BECAUSE the last time I told someone I was getting a divorce, he was the first person I told, and the only one, and then he went and disappeared!”

That silenced them. This brought Tan some satisfaction until he realized they were all waiting for him to cry. He refused, so he tipped his head back and chugged Bobby’s latte in one sitting. It felt better to tear up because of his burning mouth than it did about feelings.

When he brought his head back, he saw Jonathan staring at him with wet eyes, and Bobby with his face in his hands, and Karamo patiently waiting for him to finish.

Karamo took a breath and said, “You believe you caused it?”

“Karamo, I haven’t lost my mind. I know logically I did not cause it. I know my bad news does not cause more bad news. That’s not how the forces of the world work. But that’s how it feels. However illogical, it’s what I hear in my head, and I just can’t bear it. There’s so much happening right now that I can’t bear, do you understand that?”

Karamo got down on his knees in front of Tan. “I understand it more than you know. You wanna talk about illogical? My Uber here was stuck in traffic, right? Every red light we hit, I would will it, ‘Turn green… now. Turn greeeennnn… NOW!’ And I started giving it rules. If you don’t turn green, light, we will never find him. If this red light doesn’t change, then Antoni will stay—”

“Don’t say that!” Tan shot up in his seat. Normally he would make a joke about his crotch in Karamo’s face, but it was hard enough to get the words out as it was. “Don’t say his name.”

“Not saying it doesn’t make it any less real, Tan. Antoni’s missing and we don’t know where he is or if he’s even—”

“Don’t. Say. It.”

“If he’s even still-“

“Karamo Brown, I swear, if you say it, I will get up and walk out that door and you will never see me again. None of you will ever see me again.”

“Karamo, don’t you say it,” This came from Jonathan, remarkably measured. He stood up slowly, tears streaming, but steady. “I cannot lose two friends in one day. I need Tan. I need you. I need you to say it. But I need you to not say it, too. I need so much.” He wiped at his face with his shirt sleeves. “I need Antoni!”

By this time, Jonathan had collapsed in Bobby’s lap. Bobby wasn’t even looking up this whole time, but sensed his arms were needed, just like he always did, and held them out just in time.

Tan listened to them cry and looked at Karamo at his feet. Through his own tears, Karamo grinned up at him. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“I’m listening.”

“Until this ordeal is done, each day you and I—together—will face something that right now seems impossible. We don’t have to start with the big stuff. We can start with making origami stars. Or we can play a staring match. Or you can stay off your phone for something like two whole hours. We’ll work our way up. By the time we’re done, we will be back to where we before, meaning I will know every damn thing about Tan France, and he’ll feel like he can tell me everything without needing to make deals.”

“What happens if I fail?”

“As long as you try, it’s not a failure.”

Jonathan called out, “I’m gonna rename Karamo Nordstrom Rack because he’s serving GREAT DEALS! TAKE IT, TAN!”

Both men laughed for what felt like the first time in years. Tan put his hands on Karamo's shoulders. “Can I ask for one thing in return?”

“Just one?”

“Can you get your knees off the dirty floor? It’s making me ill.”

\----------*----------

**A Hotel, Perhaps?**

**????????, ??**

Antoni doesn’t know a lot of things right now.

1.) He doesn’t know where he is. 2.) He doesn’t know who brought him here. 3.) And he doesn’t know if his nose is broken or not.

However,

1.) He does know that this situation is really not good.

2.) But negativity serves no purpose in a time like this.

When he first awoke with a start, he allowed himself the requisite hyperventilation time, but it didn’t serve him terribly much good considering the gag in his mouth and the throbbing pain in his nose every time he took a full breath through it. Screaming a couple times through the gag also clearly wasn’t serving much good; he could tell there was no echo, and the walls could possibly be soundproofed. Curse these new hotels and their unfailing customer service (or at least fear of bad Yelp reviews)!

He also allotted approximately two minutes (these are approximations, as he can’t really see a clock that well) to test the cuffs holding either arm to the bedposts. It didn’t take much time to figure out that messing with them was only going to hurt his hands. If they were just zipties or ropes, he figured he could boy-scout his way out of them, but whoever was holding him here, they were smart enough to get real handcuffs.

Maybe he could at least figure out where he was. He pivoted around, looking for a note pad or pen or something with the hotel logo or name on it. This captor must have confiscated those, too. He really was smart. _I’ll go out on a limb and assume it’s a man._ His assumption made him snort with a little bit of laughter, which then made him cringe. His nose was kind of fucked up, wasn’t it? More than usual, that is. _When I get out of this alive—which I will! I must! I know it!—I should write down all these jokes to make a fantastic memoir._

Now, WHY is he here? Who would do this? Crazed fan? Burned crew member? Jilted lover? He didn’t really remember the last time he jilted a lover. He remembered being jilted many a time; recently, stood up a couple times, ghosted many more. And for all the nastiness he felt for those men, he didn’t think a kidnapping plot was necessary.

So he was being kidnapped. Time to admit it. The realization, the admission, brought a sting of tears to his eyes.

If only someone was there to help him. But who would he even want?

1.) His father would just be too worried to actually help. His sisters, too.

2.) His mother would want to know what he did that led to this. A worthy question, but guilt on top of it would just make him go from errant tears to actual crying, and he assumed his nose wasn’t up to the task.

3.) Kevin is still mad at him, probably, but if he saw him in this state, he wouldn’t help but feel bad. Bad enough to help? Certainly. Bad enough for a hug? Maybe.

4.) Ben, but Ben had been strangely distant lately. Again, like Kevin, if he saw what was happening, that emotional gap would likely close.

4.5.) Now he was fully crying indeed. He acknowledged some silliness—being kidnapped, but instead of sobbing over that, sobbing over becoming distant from friends.

5-8.) Someone from the Fab Five could help, but how? He had let those friendships completely lapse too. What reason could they possible have to help?

Now he was ugly crying. Blood snot was getting everywhere on his white t-shirt. _Where’d my leather jacket go?_

Leather jacket.

He decided on a leather jacket just after he decided which club to go to.

Which club was that?

_Please, which club was that?_

He couldn’t remember.

 _WHICH FUCKING CLUB DID I GO TO?_ He writhed hard against the handcuffs. He heard a faint crack.

 _Oh!! I could do that! I could destroy the place!! That’s one way out!_ He whipped his arm again and heard a louder creak from under him.

Then he heard the sound of a shower stopping. He hadn’t even realized it had been going. He missed something.

_Maybe I’m not smart enough to get out of this._

This thought was an adjustment. He had a couple minutes to mull it over as he sat and waited for the sounds of someone, a man, clearing his throat, drying himself off, using a hair dryer. And as the door opened, he tested the creaking of the bed frame one more time.

_I guess we’ll see._


	3. Winter Solstice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***This chapter comes with a trigger warning for blood and injury and domestic violence***
> 
> Merry CHRISTMAS your gift is SADNESS
> 
> I have to say I feel v blessed by the pleasant commentary & kudos because for some reason I thought this fandom was gonna be like, if I said JVN ate a piece of chocolate that you'd be like "OMG THEY ALL SAID TO NOT EAT CHOCOLATE THIS ONE TIME IN THIS ONE INTERVIEW YOU BITCH" but you guys are extremely pleasant. 
> 
> If you are wondering why Tan keeps being sad it's because sometimes you just don't feel better right away! even when you talk to your friends! but I promise he will experience levity soon and there will be an explanation for the divorce. P.S. this fic is no shade against Rob, I love Rob, it just seemed like a fun dramatic element
> 
> P.P.S. I'll send you the best of vibes and maybe one of my favorite Vines if you promise not to question any elements of police work and criminal investigation too much. I'm just a storyteller nothin more

_Winter solstice occurs when one of the Earth's poles has its maximum tilt away from the Sun. It happens twice yearly, once in each hemisphere (Northern and Southern). For that hemisphere, the winter solstice is the day with the shortest period of daylight and longest night of the year, when the Sun is at its lowest daily maximum elevation in the sky. At the pole, there is continuous darkness or twilight around the winter solstice. Its opposite is the summer solstice. Since prehistory, the winter solstice has been seen as a significant time of year in many cultures, and has been marked by festivals and rituals. It marked the symbolic death and rebirth of the Sun. The seasonal significance of the winter solstice is in the reversal of the gradual lengthening of nights and shortening of days. -_ Wikipedia

_"I was just an only child of the universe_   
_And then I found you_   
  
_You are the sun and I am just the planets_   
_Spinning around you_   
  
_You were too good to be true, g_ _old plated_   
_But what's inside you_   
  
_I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you_   
_But not as much as I do_

_'Cause you're the last of a dying breed_   
_Write our names in the wet concrete_   
_I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me?"_

\- Fall Out Boy, "The Last of the Real Ones"

* * *

**Berk/Do Household**

**Los Angeles, C** **A**

With Antoni gone, Bobby put himself in charge of the food. It was harder than it seemed. Acknowledging his own gallows humor, he hoped Antoni would come back soon so he never had to take charge of a full meal again. That morning, when he first started making a quiche, he said this joke to Dewey, who said nothing back, just slowly took over making it, one cooking utensil at a time. Bobby really loved that man in moments like that.

In fact, he always prided himself on having one of the most loving, lasting relationships among his inner circles. One of the only equally strong ones he could ever think of was Tan. So here was Bobby’s to-do list, as of 10:01 that morning, October 19th, 2022:

  1. Get Dewey’s unnecessarily complicated espresso machine to work (Bobby had been poking at it while the quiche was in the oven, which was the better part of the hour)
  2. Find out why Tan is getting a divorce
  3. Pool all of our Antoni-wherabouts-related knowledge together to see if we can help at all



3A. If we can, contact N.Y.C. police.

3B. If we can’t, group cry session.

Tan was staying in Bobby’s guest room, and excused himself at dawn to go on a power walk, from which he didn’t return until nine, and then spent fifty minutes in the bathroom, showering and doing whatever Tan does in there until people arrived. When he emerged five minutes ago, in a cloud of perfume steam and a pinstripe romper, Bobby asked him how he was feeling. Tan just squeezed Bobby’s shoulder and got the machine to spit him out a shot of espresso by pressing two buttons Bobby didn't know existed. Four minutes ago, Jonathan arrived from his hotel. Three minutes ago, Karamo arrived from his. And two minutes of group silence has passed. And the quiche was cooling.

“You guys have to eat that thing. Dewey spent forever on it.” Bobby put the quiche on the center of the table as he reviewed his list in his head. He moved 2 to the bottom because obviously it wasn’t happening today.

“I’m vegan now and I’m sorry because I should have told you that yesterday. I’m the worst.” Jonathan pulled the strings of his floral hoodie tight around his face to cover it. “My punishment can be to drink my coffee black and be quiet about it.”

“I’ve got almond milk for you, babe. Do you want some fruit or something?”

“Yes, I’ll take some ‘or something’ please, I don’t want healthy. If I have to eat healthy through this whole ordeal I'm gonna start eating furniture and linens and stuff.”

As Bobby rummaged through his cabinets, Karamo poured himself a cup of coffee only halfway up, so he could fill it the rest of the way with cream and three heaping spoonfuls of sugar. “Now, I know we said yesterday we were meeting to discuss what we know about where we last saw Antoni, and if that could give us any clues. But I just want to say out loud so we’re clear—we are not police officers, detectives, FBI agents, anything like that. We’re just talking out what we know to see if it’s even worth going to someone about.”

With zero hesitation, Jonathan announced, “I was there during his last break-up.”

Karamo tasted his coffee, then added another scoop of sugar as he said, “I remember you telling me that story, and I don’t know if that will help us here. I don’t think Kevin had much to do with this.”

Bobby sighed. There was a rather disturbing viral video of Kevin Harrington going around during his arrest as a major suspect—he was hysterical in the backseat of a police car, writhing, crying, screaming. It was a silent movie that everyone watched and no one enjoyed. He was released shortly after with a solid alibi (modeling contract overseas up until a couple days ago) and the threat of a lawsuit. The video was beyond upsetting, and Bobby had watched it at least seven times in bed that morning before Dewey took his phone away and put it on the Ralph Lauren dresser at least ten feet away from the bed.

“No, that wasn’t his last break-up.”

“Oh… oh. Wait. Who was it, then?”

“He was seeing this other guy he met, this model guy who also dated Frank Ocean. He was gorgeous. I mean like unrealistically gorgeous, like Aquaman but with silkier hair. They broke up when I was visiting and he asked me to come because he was scared.”

Bobby added to his to-do list:

  1. Google Frank Ocean boyfriends.



“Scared of getting hurt by him?”

“No, well, yeah I think so, actually, but he never said that, I could just tell. I was visiting him and they seemed totally fine except for one night it just suddenly changed and then the next day he said he was gonna break up with him.”

“Can you tell us everything?”

“So the whole first day I just spent with Antoni, it was just us being really cute and going to the high line and stuff. Having a slumber party with a slow motion pillow fight, like we were in a porno, bla bla, you know how it is. I painted his toenails navy blue. Then the next day we went out to brunch with his boyfriend, who was being really super nice, and we were all really hitting it off and I thought it was going amazingly well. Antoni had told me that first day that the relationship was kind of a secret, and I was like, why! You obviously are totally into each other and he’s great! And he didn’t really want to explain it so I didn’t push it. So that night we all went out to that like Alan Cumming club that night—”

  1. Alan Cumming has a club? Make note to go there on next NYC trip.



“and I said something about the ramen we got for our sleepover, and his boyfriend got all serious. Like he had no idea we had a sleepover. And Antoni hit him with that like you know classic 'I told you but you never listen' stuff. It didn't seem to help. When we got there, they went to the bathroom and talked about it forever. And then when they came out they were silent for the whole show. And they kissed goodbye but then Antoni and I got in a separate Uber. And he was so quiet. So weird. Like he was on his phone the whole time. And he didn’t even care when I said I was hungry, he was just like, oh, maybe we can get Schmackery’s or something on the way when usually he’d be like ‘YES, dessert food tour, I’m so New-York-knowledgeable and I love to show off my triceps and my hip places to eat'--”

“Maybe skip to the breakup part.”

“But wait, here it is. Then we got into bed that night and he asked me to come help him do the break up the next day. I got into my PJs and we talked about it and he seemed totally calm about it but like so sure he needed someone there. Weird, right? Then I told him to change into his PJs, and went to grab at his jacket, like to help him change, not because I was trying to bone! I mean God! Just because like I know physical touch is his love language! And he like PIVOTED away from me. And I was like, dude, let’s just get comfortable and sit here and really talk about our feelings. And he said fine and went to go change, and when he came back he was wearing pajama bottoms but some weird long sleeve top that didn’t match at all and didn’t even look comfortable. So we talked about it a little more and then we went to bed.”

“You think he was trying to keep himself covered? Did that come up again?”

“Listen, just listen, I have a point, I promise. So we go to the apartment the next day and I just stand really awkwardly at the door while they talk things through. And this guy is sort of crying and doing all that wah wah wah 'oh honey please don’t go' et cetera, and he’s literally being SO pathetic like wiping his tears all over himself and Antoni is being this like perfect stoic stone man. He really dressed up perfectly to do it too—the perfect image of I’m Hotter Than You, I’m So Gone, I’m Carrie Underwood, he had his like leather jacket on and—”

  1. Add a leather jacket to wardrobe.



Karamo said evenly, “Jonathan.”

“Anyway, so when it was done, and the whole thing just took like a couple minutes, he stood up to leave and this guy jumped up and like GRABBED his arm and pulled him back really hard to say something to him, like in his ear.”

“I see,” Karamo put down his coffee and brought his hand up to his mouth. “I see. Was that all?”

“Then I said, I stepped in more from the doorway and I was like, 'EX-CUSE-ME?' Because that’s what you do when someone grabs your friend violently like that. And it was violently, I promise you. He jerked him back really hard, like he lost his balance.”

“This is worrying, but before we get ahead of ourselves, it doesn’t indicate that this man was violent. At least not to this extent, not necessarily…”

“But wait, there’s something else that was more upsetting.”

“Okay, if it escalated further, that would be more of an indicator—”

“No, it didn’t. But listen. There was something about it, the part that kept replaying in my head—when I think about this, sometimes, I just get a little nauseous, because I let it go, because Antoni would always say he wanted to deal with it on his own whenever I brought it up. But now, today, and yesterday, it does more than make me nauseous, it’s just—” He was dissolving into tears now, and fanned himself, as if that would dry the tears away. He took a couple breaths, then continued. The tears didn’t stop, but he was able to talk over them. “The look on Antoni’s face when he got pulled on wasn’t even scared. He wasn’t even upset. He just cringed a little, like it hurt, like he knew it was going to. Like it had happened before. Like it wasn’t even a big deal anymore.”

  1. Find and kill anyone who had ever hurt Antoni Porowski.



Jonathan wasn’t crying anymore, but had folded in on himself in Bobby’s favorite navy armchair. He turned into a curled up sphere, a pill bug wearing florals and black leggings. Tan had not spoken a word so far and hadn’t done much moving after hugging Karamo and Jonathan hello when they came in. Now he stood with one hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and one hand white-knuckling his espresso cup. If the look on his face was any clue, his to-do list probably ended in the exact same way Bobby’s did.

Karamo kept his face calm, but Bobby knew Karamo well enough to see his well-kept eyebrows knitting together, just enough to indicate something between worry and anger. “Jonathan, do you know this guy’s name?”

“No, but I could google him and figure it out.”

“Can you do that? And then write it down, along with the dates of when you saw this go down, and just a few bullet points about what you saw happen between them. If it's not too stressful, any physical violence needs to be written down in detail. If it is, come back to it later.” Before Karamo even turned around to gesture for it, Bobby had already gone about his kitchen and produced a monogrammed notepad, a pen, and a tissue, and handed them to Jonathan.

Jonathan sniffled and put his phone down to take the notebook. “You’re such a Virgo and I love you for it.”

“That’s true. We do.” Karamo grabbed Bobby’s free hand.

Bobby felt warmth flood his insides and tears fill his eyes. He squeezed Karamo’s hand back and went over to make himself a coffee, wiping his eyes, wondering if 1.) the crying would ever stop, 2.) was it appropriate to pass out a printed survey asking the others if they felt as much like cracking, and 3.) what container would be cute to hold spare handkerchiefs in for the foreseeable future?

“Does anyone else have anything to share? Anything similar? Maybe something to do with this guy?” Karamo waited a few seconds, then sighed before saying, “I’ll share something and I’m lowkey wondering if this guy is connected somehow, but that’s just a distant thought. The last time I saw Antoni, it was at New Year’s eve, and I’m almost entirely sure he was high.”

Jonathan’s head shot up over his notebook. “High on what?”

“I don’t know. Which is saying something, because I know what most things look like. Probably more than one thing.”

“I looked up my plane ticket and this breakup thing happened in April. So I think we’re on two different timelines. But that boyfriend did offer me coke one night.”

“Did Antoni mention this guy after the break up?”

“No, I did! He didn’t want to talk about it. He was adamant.”

“You guys never talked about it past that day?”

Jonathan was focused on drawing loose flowers in figure eight patterns on his notepad. “No. Never.”

“Did Antoni do drugs that night?”

“No. Also, anyway, that wasn’t the last time I saw him. He came to San Fran. We had another sleepover in July. Or August? Crap, I don’t remember. I’ll look that up in my phone too.”

“This is kind of silly, isn’t it?” Tan spoke for the first time, stepping away from Jonathan. “This is really coming off more like a gossip session than anything helpful. What was the helpful part going to be, anyway? A mood board?”

Bobby was grateful for this coffee machine, for once. Trying to figure out where to put the filter was a welcome distraction from a tantrum that he somehow knew would leave his living room a mess. 

“In a way, maybe,” Karamo said, measured. “I may consider it helpful if a friend is missing who I know struggled in the past with a drug problem. If the police find any connections he may have in that world, it could lead to him.”

“That is quite a stretch, my friend,” Tan had come over to the kitchen now. “And this whole pseudo-abuse story is a distraction. And not true! If Antoni was being abused, he had any millions of friends to go to talk about it. Besides us. Because if these stories are telling me anything, it’s that we haven’t actually had substantial contact with him for months.”

“I’ve had contact,” Bobby said. There was no verbal response from anyone, so he said, again, firmer, “I’ve had contact.”

“When?” Karamo asked.

“Three weeks ago.”

“Three weeks?!” Tan pretended to toast Bobby with his empty espresso cup. “It sounds like you win the award for most recent, which is a pretty shitty reflection on all of us, if I may say so.”

Jonathan uncurled a little. “What were you guys talking about?”

“About design. About me designing the condo he was looking at closer to Central Park than his current place. About what I would do with it, the floor plan, the…” Bobby stopped and ran his hand through his hair. “About if I thought it would lend itself well to some real remodeling… so… he wasn’t planning on leaving… or at least maybe he was planning on staying at some point.”

“So he didn’t run away!” Jonathan clapped his hands.

“Oh, wonderful news,” Tan said, dripping with that beautiful British sarcasm. “What that tells me is he’s certainly in trouble then. That someone certainly came and did something to him and he's certainly somewhere against his will.”

“Let’s not catastrophize just yet,” Karamo said, looking at Jonathan, whose eyes filled with tears before Tan was even half done with that section of his rant.

“I’ll show YOU catastrophiz—” Tan started toward Karamo, too fast, and his hand hit the kitchen counter, and the espresso cup shattered. Before everyone even realized what happened, blood dripped down his fingers.

“Oh no, oh shit, get a band-aid!” Jonathan ran to the bathroom, sliding in his booties.

“No, get a towel,” Karamo finally stood up, looking more annoyed than worried.

“NO get me some SELTZER please for my ROMPER!” Tan waved his hand around and used the other to pull his romper away from his body. There was a drop of blood on it.

“The clothes aren’t important, Tan! Let me see your hand! Hold still!” Bobby reached for Tan’s hand, but it was hard trying to handle a paper towel in one hand and an angry Tan France in the other.

“I’ll tell YOU what’s important!” Tan squirmed away from Bobby, only to turn right into Karamo, who grabbed Tan with one arm and held him still. Tan tried to tug away, but was about fifty pounds and five inches away from being able to.

With his other hand wrapped in a washcloth, Karamo held onto his cut. “I would like that very much, Tan. Please. Tell me what’s important. Please communicate one of your feelings. Any of them. Because these nasty little outbursts are getting us nowhere with you.”

“The only feeling I want to communicate with you is annoyance! Because this is pointless! This was a meeting to do nothing except make a mess in Bobby’s kitchen and break his coffee machine! Also, Bobby, GOD, it’s just a COFFEE MACHINE with a couple extra levers! How do you not know how to work your own espresso machine! Watch—” Still clutched by Karamo, Tan flipped open a lid Bobby didn’t even know existed and poured some coffee in. “Now do you want regular coffee or do you want an espresso? Let’s make you a coffee. And wake you up, for god’s sake. You click one of these two buttons, and you put your cup—OUCH fuck me!” The coffee spurted out on Tan’s wrist, he held it against his chest, then shot it away. “FUCK AGAIN! This romper is Tom Ford!”

“This one I know! I’ll get the ice!” Now Jonathan slid over to the freezer.

Karamo grabbed Tan by the waist when he jumped away. “I’m trying to be empathetic but I NEED you to chill out and take at least THREE deep breaths-“

“I need everyone to STOP WRECKING MY KITCHEN!” Bobby’s voice came over all them and brought a hush to the kitchen. Jonathan lay his head down in the freezer.

Karamo took a deep breath and released Tan. “Tan. We had a deal.”

Tan clutched his injured hands close to his chest and had a small tantrum. He half-grunted, half-cried out, and stomped his feet a few times. He let out a string of every curse word he knew, some in Urdu. He kicked a shard of the coffee cup aside.

And then he leaned forward and did a handstand. And held it.

Then he fell back onto his butt with an ungraceful plop. Leaving a tiny pool of blood behind where his cut hand stood.

“This morning, for my one thing I thought I couldn’t do, Karamo texted me and challenged me to do a handstand for at least ten seconds. And guess what? That was at least fifteen.”

Jonathan was holding a bag of frozen brussels sprouts to his own forehead. “You’re so strong, but babe, your _haaannnnddss._ ”

Karamo sat down next to Tan and took his hands, inspecting them. “Yeah, Tan, I meant like, before this.” He was fighting laughter.

“You can laugh,” Tan said and sighed. “You can all laugh.”

And they did. Even Tan did a little.

“I spent the morning in Bobby’s backyard, trying it, and I just couldn’t get it. But just now, I knew it would work. I don’t know why. The pain, I guess.”

“That’s where you were? I thought you were on a walk!” Bobby walked over to them with another wet washcloth.

“No, I was just very quiet. I miss being quiet. I think I’ll start being quiet again. After today.”

There was an awkward moment where Karamo reached for the washcloth, which surprised Bobby, which surprised Karamo. But then Bobby handed it to him. Karamo seemed confused, but wrapped it around Tan’s burnt hand.

Tan snickered. “He was going to use that for the floor, not my hand.”

Karamo tilted his head back to laugh. “Bobby Berk. You’re special.”

“I’ll get the floor. I’m helpful.” Jonathan, happy to get a task, marched over to the paper towels.

“Here’s another deal,” Tan said.

“Love those,” Jonathan said.

“Whoever drives me to urgent care will get my story of the last time I spoke to Antoni. I don’t think there’s anything to it. But it’s worth a try.”

\----------*----------

 **To: Ant**  
From: JVN  
Subject: Miss you

Dear Antoni,

As I write this email to you, we are sitting in the back of Karamo’s rental (it’s a Tesla, I know you and Bobbers love those so I just wanted to say it) and we are going to urgent care with Tan. I know, it’s a long crazy story. I would say I’ll tell you one day but I’m writing this email as the only coping mechanism I can possibly think of right now because I’m p certain you’ve left this plane.

If I sound like I am handling this well I’ll have you know I’m full blown crying writing this in the back of the car, but everyone here is so used to it at this point that everyone just pets me like a cat and moves on. I have been telling everyone I’m sure you’re alive but I’m really not sure. I feel like this weird obligation to say the most positive thing because it’s what everyone expects? Sometimes in situations like this I get that like ‘willing things into existence effect’ and then I actually feel that way even when I didn’t to begin with. And sometimes I also just wish I didn’t have to pretend, like that I could just be miserable in public.

Tan is being just miserable in public. Idk what happened with you guys. He says he’s about to tell us but I think he’s just going to lie and we’re gonna pretend we believe it.

If I’m wrong and you are all alive and buff as per usual then one day will you please tell me what’s going on between you two?

Also if you’re alive then damn sorry this email is so morbid. She’s feeling goth today. It’s what happens to people when you disappear. If you are alive and you left on purpose and you’re reading this, then do you understand that? Do you have any idea how upset and worried people are?

If you end up being alive, then no matter if you left on purpose or not, I hope you one day read this email and feel the love.

Soundtrack to this email: Make You Feel My Love by Adele.

I’ve managed to stop crying so I’ll press send now.

I’ll love you always

Xo

JVN


	4. Meteor Shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos and comments or the chef gets it  
> jk
> 
> Happy New Year's here's more p a i n
> 
> I don't KNOW who speaks French besides Antoni so PLZ don't @ me about that OKAY

_A meteor shower is a celestial event in which number of meteors are observed to radiate, or originate, from one point in the night sky. These meteors are caused by streams of cosmic debris called meteoroids entering Earth's atmosphere at extremely high speeds on parallel trajectories. Most meteors are smaller than a grain of sand, so almost all of them disintegrate and never hit the Earth's surface_. - Wikipedia

_I never feel a thing is real_   
_When I'm away from you_   
_Out of your embrace_   
_The world's a temporary parking place_

_A bubble for a minute_   
_You smile, the bubble has a rainbow in it_

_Say, it's only a paper moon_   
_Sailing over a cardboard sea_   
_But it wouldn't be make-believe_   
_If you believed in me_

\- Natalie Cole, "Paper Moon"

* * *

**Berk/Do Household**

**Los Angeles, C** **A**

When Karamo gets frustrated, he likes to take a step back and identify: what is really the cause of frustration here? Is it really whatever minimal thing that just occurred? Is it really a rude stranger in traffic, is it really a friend’s harmless suggestion? Or is it something in the bigger picture frustrating him, and is he allowing to it to? Asking these questions and answering them honestly is one of the biggest things you can do to preserve a relationship, he believes. Misplaced anger is a destroyer of bonds.

That being said, if Tan stalls anymore, Karamo might just put a hole through his stiff tower of hair.

Tan had said he would tell them all about his divorce at urgent care, but then decided he wanted to cook dinner for everyone first. Back at Bobby’s, Tan took his time unpacking all the Whole Foods bags, denying help, even though essentially he was wearing mittens made out of bandages. It was cute bordering on funny until it was time to start chopping vegetables. As if he sensed a disturbance from across the house, Dewey materialized. He reached over to take over chopping; he didn’t ask, just reached over and gently took the knife. When all the cutting was done, Dewey set a pot of water to boil. Tan put ingredients in sporadically, and though he dropped a little of each, Dewey decided his work was done. He made some concerned noises, small talk with the men about the lines at that Whole Foods, and meaningful eye contact with Bobby before finding an excuse to go to the bedroom. Karamo could see why Bobby loved the man.

Finally, when the soup was done, Tan brought the pot along with a beautiful ceramic holder over. He distributed bowls amongst the men, and sat down without filling his. “He cheated on me.”

“Oh, Christ. For how long?” Bobby asked.

“He said it was just this one time and I believe him. I kept leaving, going on work trips—filming, publicity, all that. He said he expressed that he was feeling neglected. He did, we had talked about it a couple times, but I didn’t know it was dire.”

“Who was it?”

Tan bought time pouring himself some soup. “Our interior designer.”

Bobby nodded. “Ah.” When Tan offered him a bowl, he said, “I’m good right now, thanks.”

“He conceded two months ago to getting a small place in Los Angeles, so that when I had to be here for a while, we could stay together. And we thought maybe that would help. I suppose this young man was helping in more than one way.” He just stirred his chickpeas around without taking a bite. “It hurt, obviously, but he was more of a wreck over it than me. I think I resented that too, in a way. Like, I couldn’t just be hurt over it? I also had to console him?”

“God, that makes perfect sense. You need your own space to be sad about it. Also it’s okay to want attention. Why doesn’t anyone just ever admit they want attention? Crap, this is vegan, right?” Jonathan had already inhaled one bowl of soup and was going for another.

“Attention is a vital human need,” Karamo said. It didn’t contribute much to the conversation, but frankly, he felt that they were only scratching the surface of what Tan was saying, and he didn’t want to hold his hand through it. If Tan didn’t get used to being forthcoming with his emotions the way he had been a couple years ago, this was going to be a very long week, possibly a long rest of their relationship.

“I agree with all of this. I agreed with it a lot then, too. So I. Sort of. Took the attention back. When we were in Los Angeles again, staying in a hotel room, I went out to the nearest bar. And. Picked someone up.”

No one had much to say to that. Tan looked at them all like a small silver deer in headlights. His gaze landed on Karamo and stayed. Karamo didn’t want to hold anyone’s hand, this was true, but he also couldn’t just leave Tan out there, exposed, alone. “You wanted to hurt him the way he hurt you. But no one wins in that situation.”

“No. And he knew. I didn’t even say anything. I just came in late and I smelled like god knows what. Had a hickey or something maybe. He wasn’t there in the morning. Five days later, I got served the papers. End of story.”

Obviously, that wasn’t the end of the story. Tan’s eyes checked them all again, most likely to see how much they were buying it. This time, he ended up on Bobby.

Bobby stared back at him and crossed his legs. “Sorry you guys are going through that.” But his face didn’t look very sorry. When Dewey started vacuuming from another room, Bobby looked away.

“Wait, that’s the end of the story? Did you apologize?” Jonathan asked.

“I sent him a text asking if I could talk to him and apologize in person.”

“That’s IT? ONE TEXT?” Jonathan put his soup bowl carefully in Bobby’s lap before nearly falling off his chair in a small conniption, kicking his neon-yellow-socked feet around. “THAT’S NOT ENOUGH, TAN! Call him until he picks up and make sure he knows how sorry you are!”

“Why can’t he be reaching out to say how sorry he is?”

“Tan, it’s WAY DIFFERENT, you did it to hurt him, he did it because he was hurting!”

“We could have talked it out if he was…” Tan trailed off, not even really convinced himself.

“Tan, this makes like no sense, this is like, Scientology or something. You guys are soulmates, call him up, keep texting him, show up on his doorstep with flowers and a boombox, or jeez, stop working on your place in L.A. and just stay there in Utah with him for a while!” Jonathan tied his hair up in a quick top knot, his universal sign of getting down to business. “Something is fishy A.F. about this. There has got to be a reason you’re not trying to fix it.”

Bobby got up to put Jonathan’s bowl in the sink. Karamo also noted he was most likely trying to get some distance from the situation. He made a mental note to circle back to that later; no reason to lose both Tan and Bobby down an emotionally closed spiral. Karamo said, “Is this the exact story you gave to Antoni?

“Yes. We had the same conversation. It went about as well as this one.”

Jonathan said, “This IS going well. You’re lucky I haven’t smacked you on your beautiful nose for being a dummy.”

“I have some awareness I’ve fucked up my marriage. Thank you.”

“Okay, well… okay. Sorry I’m yelling. Don’t get too sad. Don’t ever smack your nose. Don’t let anyone smack it. It’s too perfect.” Jonathan got up and went over to hug Tan. Tan leaned it to it with more than a little desperation, and looked over at Karamo.

Karamo knew there were pieces missing. Maybe they were forgotten; memories play a funny disappearing act sometimes when they’re just too painful. Or maybe Tan was withholding on purpose. Karamo knew he could push Tan—or anyone, really—hard enough until he cracked and spilled all the details.

But instead, he just went over and joined the hug. He was one human, and he was not professionally trained to solve missing persons cases, divorce mediation, and dissolved friendships all at the same time, and it was time to accept that, and a bitter pill was best swallowed while hugging Jonathan Van Ness.

“Bobbers, we’re group-hugging,” Jonathan announced. “Attendance is mandatory.”

Bobby was intently staring at something on his phone. “So I’ve subscribed to Google Alerts for this whole thing.”

“Uh-oh,” Karamo said, getting up from the hug. Then he kicked himself for that reflexive response when he saw Tan and Jonathan clutch each other so hard it looked like it hurt.

“I mean, don’t worry yet… it’s a report from this French Canadian news station. I have no idea what they’re saying. I just see Antoni’s name on the header. Who speaks French?”

“Only a little from school, but… maybe I’ll pick up something.” Tan held out a less-bandaged hand for Bobby’s phone, but Jonathan took it. He held out the phone for Tan in one hand and Tan’s earlobe in the other hand.

Having only looked at it for half a second, Tan said, “Those are his parents.” He stared at it, squinting a little. “Can’t you get subtitles or something?”

“Not on my phone. If it were Netflix, maybe.”

Jonathan cringed. “Oh fuck, do you think they’ll try to make a true crime special out of this?”

“Sshhh…” Tan said. “I can only catch words… payment, money… child, son…”

“They’re saying his name a lot,” Jonathan said. 

“They’re trying to humanize him in case someone who has him is listening,” Karamo said. “They must be pretty sure someone took him at this point.”

“And they’re offering to pay ransom,” Tan said. One of Antoni’s baby pictures scrolled across the screen. “God, stop, I don’t want to watch anymore. They’re just repeating themselves anyway.”

“Do you think he would really just let himself get kidnapped?” Jonathan handed Bobby his phone and stuck around where he was to hold Bobby’s hand. “I really don’t want to victim blame but sometimes when I hear about that happening, unless it’s a child or something, I sort of think like, did this person do something or make a mistake or something to let it happen? I mean, yeah, obviously still mostly fuck the kidnapper. Like ninety-nine-point-five percent fuck the kidnapper. But like… do you know what I mean? I don’t think Antoni would put himself in a situation to be kidnapped. That’s all.”

“Would he fight back?” Karamo asked.

“Or be convinced to go somewhere?” Bobby asked.

“I think no to both,” Tan said. “Because I agree with Jonathan. I don’t think this would have come up at all.”

“If he had to fight, he would win; isn’t like every day arm day for him at the gym?” Jonathan said.

“He’s not a fighter. Not like that.” Tan said.

“We all have been in situations before where we’ve felt threatened and then had to figure out the hard way how much of a fighter we were,” Bobby said. “Sad truth of being a gay man.”

“I know better than you think,” Tan said, keeping his eyes on his boots, even though Bobby wasn’t looking at him either, just scrolling through his phone.

“Is there like an English version of that video?” Jonathan asked. “There has to be.”

“I’ll look,” Bobby said.

“I’m really not into this kidnapper narrative right now,” Jonathan said. “Because of those scary statistics about secondary locations. They’re terrible. John Mulaney did a whole bit about it once. It seemed so funny then. It doesn’t seem funny now.”

“Which narrative do you prefer?” Bobby asked. Karamo had come over to look over Bobby’s shoulder, but he looked up to hear the answer from the Jonathan.

“I think he just went somewhere to have a tantrum and to run away from something,” Tan said.

“My favorite narrative is the one where he is hiding because something scared him, like a little armadillo,” Jonathan said. Bobby mouthed to Karamo, _Armadillos hide?_ “Like a bad breakup, and he just went somewhere like a vacation home to figure it out. He wouldn’t FULLY run away and he didn’t kill himself because he has a lot to live for. He’s getting a new apartment, right, Bobby? He’s getting a new place? Where is it? Do you have the address?”

“I have the floorplan. I was gonna work on it.” This statement was half to Tan, who pretended not to hear.

“If we can find his place, maybe we can find him.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense, babe.”

“It’s better than doing nothing.”

“Karamo, what do you want to do?” Bobby asked.

Ready for a secret about Karamo? A little insight into his life?

Most of the time when people ask him something like that (which is often), he doesn’t actually know what to do. He pretends like he has all the info, all the options laid out in front of him, and that he consulted data to find the best path. Really, he just has ideas about what people want to hear, the path they were going to go down anyway. He’s like a deck of Tarot cards—there is no spiritual energy giving you a clear answer within them, but when you shuffle the cards and make up meaning behind the symbols, you feel like you weren’t making any rash decisions. And it's true because the answer was always there inside you all along.

Another secret? Karamo is pretty sure Antoni is dead. Jonathan’s point about secondary locations were more poignant than he realized. At this point, Antoni certainly would have been taken somewhere the police didn’t think to look, so the odds were already good that he was killed once he got there. And in any case with captives like this, the more time you’re missing for, the worse your odds.

Tan had a good point too; Antoni wasn’t much of a fighter. Not that he wasn’t physically able, just that it wasn’t how he solved his problems, so he wouldn't think to muscle his way out of the situation in time. Anyone’s survival instincts would kick in at a certain point, but by the time it got to that, who knows how effective it would be.

The one belief he had going for him was the shot in the dark that his brother had found a way to escape, but—no shade to Antoni—it was harder for Karamo to picture than anything else. Still, this was enough hope that it let Karamo compartmentalize his grief; cry by himself at night or on the phone to his family, and stay strong for his Queer Eye brothers in the moment.

They needed his strength, and they needed far more hope than he did. So Karamo said, “I think we’re not doing any good here on the West Coast.”

Jonathan's skin gained an instant glow and he jumped, landing in second position. “We’re going to New York to look for him?”

“No, Jonathan, again, we’re not that kind of professional. We’re going to New York to support the family and friends there, and to share any relevant information we have. And to support Antoni himself. If he’s hiding on purpose, maybe we can convince him to come out.” What Karamo didn’t say was that it would also save them a trip when the inevitable memorial service rolled around. But even he, strong as he was, couldn’t picture saying that out loud and getting through it.

“I guess I’ll start looking for four tickets on the same flight tomorrow,” Bobby said, settling on his couch. “I’ve fused to my phone already anyway.”

“Tomorrow? Why not tonight?” Jonathan sat next to Bobby.

“How could we possibly get four tickets on the same flight together for the next three hours?”

“Bobby, for once in your picture perfect Earth sign life, don’t worry about it. I have a favor I can call in.” Jonathan threw his legs onto Bobby’s lap and scrolled his phone. He dialed a number, and after a few seconds, “Taylor? O.M.G. girl how have you been, did you hear the news? Listen, I know you’ve got that jet out here… And I was just wonderinnngggg…”

\---------*-----------

**Berk/Do Household**

**Los Angeles, CA**

Tan sat up in Bobby’s guest bed with the lights on. He had his iPad propped up and blaring in front of him, and he sipped his third mug of chamomile tea that night. His sleep hygiene used to be so good, and now here he was, doing non-sleep activity in the bed, not using a blue light filter, and drinking enough liquid to keep him peeing all night. But for the past two nights, falling asleep naturally had been out of the question. He merely used distractions until he passed out from exhaustion.

His phone lit up with a blocked number. He knew it was Rob, and he knew Rob must be in a bad place to be calling him at this hour. Even after all the nastiness they had been through, he truly loved and cared for that man; Tan felt a secondhand pang of pain so strong it was nauseating. He put his tea aside, just in time for someone to knock on the door.

Even though he knew it could only possibly be Bobby or Dewey, Tan quickly paused the iPad and ran his hands through his hair to smooth it over a little. “Come in.”

Bobby came in and headed straight over to sit down on the bed. “I can’t sleep. I have to call us an Uber in like two hours anyway. What are you watching?”

“Nothing, just… old videos.”

“Of what?” He reached for it, but Tan snatched it away. Bobby grinned. “I heard it. You were watching Cake Boss.”

Tan clutched his iPad close to his chest. “Don’t laugh! He makes lovely cakes!”

“He does. So do you.”

“I would offer to bake while I’m here but seeing as we’re leaving on Taylor Swift’s private jet in three hours.”

“Yeah, I came to see if you needed help re-packing and… also to say I’m sorry. For being hard on you today.”

“No, I deserve it.”

“No, I know you know how bad things have gotten, so there’s no need for me to judge you on top of it.”

“You and your husband won’t end up like us. You two communicate too well.”

“Too well indeed. Sometimes I feel like there’s no mystery.”

Tan wanted to respond that he would trade all the mystery in the world for the comfort of coming home to Rob, but he knew the response would be questions on why doesn’t he just call Rob back then, and Tan didn’t know the answer himself.

But Bobby knew him too well. “Did you reach out to Rob at all? Just to tell him where you’ll be going?”

“He’ll figure it out. I think he’s on top of this stuff. He liked Antoni a lot.” Tan heard his voice crack on that last sentence, and he reached for his tea again, pretending that would help.

Bobby patted his knee. “It’ll work out somehow.”

“I don’t think it will.”

“Even if it’s not in the way that we’d like. I know how I’d like things to work out, but… I don’t know how realistic it is. Still, let’s just keep going. Together. There’s nothing else we can do. Okay?”

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll pack now.” Tan pushed himself up. “Or just keep watching Cake Boss.”

“You want a fresh tea?”

“No. I can get it. You go spend time with that lovely husband of yours, please.”

“I will. I love you, Tan.”

“I love you too.”

Bobby left. As soon as he did, Tan turned the volume up on his ipad as high it would go. He walked over to his suitcase and buried his head in it, sobbing freely.

\--------*---------

**Let’s Say It’s a Hotel**

**4:02 according to the microwave**

“I’m gonna take your gag out. Okay? I’m gonna take it out. And you’re not going to scream. If you do, I’ll hit you with this bat once. Right in the temple. That’s all it takes. No one will come in time. Okay?”

Antoni had to will himself out of smirking. _Are you asking my permission?_ He nodded.

“Say you get it.”

He tried to say “It’s hard with this gag,” but it was hard with that gag.

The guy ripped the gag out.

“I get it. And thank you.”

“Don’t say anything else.”

Antoni bowed his head, looking at his socked feet. He wanted to ask why the guy took off his shoes and not the socks, but he was being quiet. He looked over at the bathroom, and wanted to ask if he could take a shower and/or pee at some point. He looked over at the coffee maker and wondered if he was going to get coffee, or tea, or food or water or anything. So many questions. If he couldn’t say anything, he would ask with gestures.

He pulled, very lightly, at one handcuff, just to make a noise.

“Don’t bother trying to get out. I’ll beat the shit out of you as soon as you get out. I’ve got a hammer too and three different knives. And a pistol in my suitcase.”

 _Alright! Simple enough_. Antoni sniffed, and coughed a couple times.

“What, you thirsty? Tough shit. What makes you think you’re gonna live long enough to need water?”

_Less ideal answer!_

He stared at the guy, trying to place him. He was kind of short. Stubble, almost a beard. Short hair, clean cut. Which club? Which project? Which interview? Which date? Which anything?

“You really don’t recognize me?”

There was almost no good way out of that. Did he look vaguely familiar? Yes, but lots of people did. He was good with faces, but not a genius. “I’m sorry. Listen, I’m just… not really with it right now.” Maybe he could turn the blame around a bit. “My head kind of hurts. My nose feels… off. Did you hit me?”

“I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t going to but you started to wake up. You wouldn’t go quietly. We needed to get out of there fast and you wouldn’t—I worked so hard to prepare and you just—why did you have to fight? Why couldn’t you just go with me?”

“You're so right. I’m sorry about that. I can be kind of stubborn. I know. I’m working on it. If I’ve hurt you before, I’m sorry. I can’t say that enough. I’ve been in kind of a mood lately and I don’t mean to take it out on innocent people like you.”

“Not everything is about you!”

“You’re right! That’s right!” Antoni was going to keep going, but it seemed this guy was sensitive. He had to take the reins here. Just like he used to let the Heroes do on the show. Maybe this was guy was one of them… an abandoned hero? Certainly not one from an actual episode; if he was on, Antoni would have recognized him. Someone who didn’t make it on?

There was an uncomfortable silence. This Psycho Hero was staring at him, holding a baseball bat tightly, but at rest, to the side. Antoni cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He had no idea how he hurt this guy. “If there’s something I can do to help you, I’ll do it.”

“You guys think all you ever do is help people. Not always. Not always.”

 _Aha! It is a Queer Eye thing!_ “But if you know us, then you know our _intention_ is just to help.”

“I needed help before. But you never responded. None of you ever responded.”

“I can help now. We can all help. I know all the guys’ numbers. I could call them—”

“Your phone isn’t here.”

“We don’t need them. I can help you by myself.” Of all the questionable things he had said so far, Antoni was aware that this one sounded like nonsense the most of all. He tried to push this out of mind, because it wasn’t helpful. He would have given anything for them in that moment. Karamo could have negotiated their safety hours ago. Bobby would have eight different plans for escaping. Jonathan would have charmed this guy into a mani-pedi kiki. And Tan. Antoni just wanted Tan there because he couldn’t think of a reason why not.

But it was just him. The food and wine expert. This could work somehow. It had to. “Do you want me to make you something? And then it could be just this special spontaneous thing for just us. No cameras. No one else. Just you and me and… me cooking you… something. Anything.”

The guy blinked, then disappeared into the closet for a second. Antoni assumed it was to get a gun, so he hoped that when his life flashed before his eyes, inevitably within the next minute or so, it would slow down on all the dog memories.


	5. Asteroids in Orbit: Part 1: Pallas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your girl is on an extended WORK TRIP with long hours and work to do in the evening because capitalism sucks!!1111!!1!1!!!!!
> 
> That means that I haven't had time to write this as much as I should! Most of this story is written a few chapters ahead, but I still need to buy some time to figure some things out because I didn't finish planning it out right because even though I'm gainfully employed sometimes I'm Real Stupid, and I won't have time to do that til a lot later this month!  
> but I want you to see things!!! 
> 
> SO! There will be frequent updates still but they will be a lot shorter than usual. Probably only one scene each.   
> Here's how it will be structured (I will remind again next time):
> 
> \- Asteroids chapters all take place in the PAST  
> \- Pisces chaps take place in the present with our man Ant
> 
> so many notes because I know all two and a half of you cool cats reading this REALLY C A R E L O L
> 
> ALSO DATE RAPE DRUGS ARE HARD TO DEPICT IN NARRATIVE WRITING DON'T @ MEEEEEEE
> 
> *** THIS CHAPTER COMES WITH TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR: DRUG USE, VOMITING, ETC.***

_Intelligence, logic, and problem solving is the milieu of Pallas. When you need to work your way through a complex task or problem, it’s likely Pallas is hanging out nearby. Pallas is also the pattern provider, illuminating our current, past, and potential future structures._ \- Sanctuary World

_Oh, baby, baby, it's all about the moon_   
_I wish you wouldn't have broken my camera_   
_'Cause we're gonna get real old real soon  
  
_ _I must've lived a thousand times_   
_But there's a small town in my mind_   
_How can I leave without hurting everyone that made me?_

\- Regina Spektor, "Small Town Moon"

* * *

Here is Karamo’s most recent memory with Antoni. It is a privilege to see this. He only shared the full version with his therapist, and an abbreviated version with Ian. But here you are, participating in the memory. Recognize the privilege in seeing this, as one should recognize the privilege every time an asteroid merely passes by Earth, not even coming into the atmosphere, when it could just as easily crash right into us and bring on the extinction of man and love. 

**New York, NY**

**January 1 st, 2022**

The absolute only problem with being bald is that when Karamo goes to the bathroom, he doesn’t have too many excuses to take forever and recharge his social batteries. Is it a little unexpected that someone like Karamo Brown is looking for excuses to go for five minutes of alone time? Maybe. But he was having a drink with David Collins, and they were minutes away from sealing the deal on his own Netflix solo series. And on New Year's Day, no less. So it wasn’t a very good time to tell someone that they were basically draining his life force and he needed to hear the sound of flushing toilets to feel better.

Karamo gave his face a lengthy look in the mirror. The counter of this beautiful bar bathroom was pristine dark marble; polished, sleek, even. Karamo’s skin wasn’t too different. Especially today. He took a moment to enjoy life. It was a new year, he was still going places in his forties, and his skin looked moisturized as fuck.

Just as he started to say, “Black truly don’t crack,” out loud to himself, he was interrupted by a gagging noise from one of the stalls. It happened a few more times. It was maybe less of a gag and more of a confused cough, like someone who wanted to puke but forgot how. Karamo “tsk”ed to himself in sympathy, remembering many uncomfortable nights of his youth spent in the city, puking in public. Holidays spent like this were the norm. The person in the stall started to try to unlock the door to come out. Karamo watched in the mirror, content to use a drunk spectacle as an excuse to avoid his dinner table. He also is not above watching a train wreck for pure voyeurism (we all do! Karamo’s just brave enough to admit it!), and sort of wanted to see what this guy looked like.

It was taking them an awful long time to unlock that door.

Karamo sighed. Harmless rubbernecking was one thing, but this guy couldn’t even get out of a bathroom stall. He braced himself for a caretaking session of a stranger and just hoped his new silver blazer wouldn’t get stained. “Need a hand over there?”

No response, just continuous attempts to get out. At some point, after enough clicking that possibly just broke the lock, the person stepped out. Skinny jeans. Loafers. A slight widow’s peak. With hair somehow both dirty and impeccable, disheveled yet manicured. Karamo whipped around, not believing the mirror. “Antoni?! Damn! I’ve missed you! You’ve disappeared from the group chat, boo! How long has it been since…”

Antoni didn’t look up at him. He didn’t move forward, just stood in front of the stall, half-lidded. Hearing his name seemed to confuse him.

“Hey, listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call or text that I was coming in… it was kind of last minute. Just a meeting. It’s just… Ant? You okay?”

Antoni looked kind of like he wanted to fall over, but knew from somewhere in his unconscious brain that that would hurt. He kind of leaned to the side against the wall next to the stalls.

Karamo came over to take hold of his arm. “How much did you have to drink here, bud? Let’s take a walk, I’ll get you a taxi.” It took Antoni a minute to realize he had been grabbed. He didn’t yank his arm away, just made some sluggish motions to sort of get away. He leaned harder against the wall. “Hey, let’s sit. Come on, sit with me. Don’t want you to fall and wreck that pretty face.”

With Karamo’s guidance, he sat on the floor. Once they were sitting together for a minute, Karamo saw how glazed over his eyes were. He “tsk”ed again. “Antoni. What did you take tonight?” Karamo looked closer and noticed a thin line of drool. “How much? Antoni? Any narcotics tonight?”

Antoni shook his head.

“Not sure I believe you,” Karamo turned over his arms to inspect them, but wasn’t seeing any visible spots where a needle had gone. He got up to look into the stall where Antoni had been, but it was empty. Not even a sign of vomit, nor a bit of cotton, a shred of tinfoil.

“Sit right there. Don’t move.” Karamo stood up and ducked into the hall. He grabbed a random waiter and asked for a glass of ice water, gesturing that he wasn’t feeling well. The waiter quickly handed one to him, and as soon as he turned back around, Karamo reached into a little nook in the area behind the waiter’s station and grabbed a Closed For Maintentance sign. He put it on the bathroom door.

“Can you drink this for me?” As soon as Karamo handed it to Antoni, he started drinking. He was going slow, but managing to spill enough that Karamo just took it away. He went to get some paper towels, noticing he was sweating now. When he went to mop his brow, Antoni looked up at him for the first time. Karamo made eye contact with hazy shame. “Listen. I’ve done a lot more embarrassing things for my boys. I’ve held a lot of heads. Wiped away things you don’t want to know about it. I know you’re out here by yourself. I know you have been for so long. Tonight you’ll be one of my boys, okay? Now, tomorrow, we’ll have a nice little come-to-Jesus chat, but until then, I’m just gonna take care of you the old-fashioned ways tonight. Okay?”

It took a long time, but he eventually responded, a whisper, “Okay.”

“Okay. It’s a deal.” Karamo tried again with the water, guiding his hand. “How many drinks did you have tonight, babe?”

“How many?”

“Yes, how many?”

He made a few general slurring noises, clearly thinking hard. Finally, after quite a few attempts at sentences, "Just one.”

“Yeah, okay. Are you here with anyone tonight I can ask?”

“Not with anyone,” this was also slurred, but with at least a clear intention, emphasis behind it. Karamo tried to pick up what it was. Impatience? Anger maybe?

“What did you take besides drinks?”

Now Antoni closed his eyes and made some vague noises of protest. He started to lie down on the floor.

“No, Antoni, you can’t sleep here. Get up.”

As if he had pressed a button, Antoni just propped himself back up and opened his eyes.

Something about that movement sounded an alarm bell in Karamo’s brain. But then again, so did the whole situation. How long had Antoni been like this tonight? How many other nights like this had there been? And why was he the one who had to help? _Where the fuck are your New York “friends”?_ “Thank you. I’m gonna go end this dinner swiftly, and then we’ll go back to your place. I’ll come home with you and get you into bed. Sound good? Can you stay right here for me? Don’t stand up without me because I don’t want you to fall.”

Antoni stared through him. “Hey, Karamo.”

“Yes?”

Antoni didn’t verbally respond, seeming to have already lost whatever thought he had. Karamo reached out and ran a hand through his hair, and he leaned into the touch. Something warm filled Karamo—love? Worry? Frustration? “I’ll be back in five. Don’t move. If people come in and talk to you, and if you can talk back, just tell them someone’s already taking care of you. If not, just hang tight, I’m coming.” He figured out where the warmth was coming from. It wasn’t a single emotion. It was a desire. A desire to text his sons. _Hang tight. I’m coming. Dad’s coming. Just stay there._ Even though there was no reason to believe they were unsafe. He wasn’t sure exactly what activated that instinct, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. 

Karamo left the bathroom and wrapped up his dinner as swiftly as possible. He gave some sort of excuse about getting a text about one of his sons suddenly falling ill, hoping it would explain his clearly frenetic demeanor, and hoping it wasn’t too obvious he was lying. In a way, it wasn’t a lie.

When he made it back to the bathroom, the sign was still there, but Antoni was gone.

The next ten minutes or so were a complete panic. Karamo multitasked, flipping through every email and text thread he had ever been on with Antoni, trying to find an address of any kind, calling Antoni every sixty seconds, all as he went around to every waiter and host he could get his hands on, interrogating them on if they saw someone stagger out of the building. Midway through explaining to the restaurant manager that he shouldn’t call the cops, but he should understand why Karamo was flipping out, he got a text message from Antoni.

 _Home,_ it said.

 _Safe_ , said the next.

 _Xo_ said the last text message he sent him that year.


	6. Pisces Rising: Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to stop putting spoilers in these notes but I also just want to amend things I think I may have led to people to believe  
> anyway  
> what I'm trying to say is don't strain yourself trying to think of who this guy is
> 
> Happy full wolf moon, folks!

_When planets move through Pisces in astrology, you may notice themes related to spirituality, your subconscious, and creativity. Symbolized by the Fish, Pisces is a water sign and its ruling planet is Neptune. On a good day, Pisces energy is creative, intuitive, compassionate, and dreamy. On a bad day, watch out for escapism, delusion, destructiveness, and self-pity. Even if your birth chart has no planets in Pisces, this intuitive sign still affects certain areas of your life._ \- Sanctuary World

_You bought a star in the sky tonight_  
_And in your man-made dark_  
_The light inside you died_

_Oh we don't own our heavens now_  
_We only own our hell_  
_And if you don't know that by now_  
_Then you don't know me that well_

  
\- Marina and the Diamonds, “Buy the Stars”

* * *

As his captor was getting whatever horrifying thing he needed from his suitcase, Antoni took a second to reflect on his life. Had he truly mastered the perfect fried egg? Arguably, but not getting someone else to say yes was a particularly big regret. 

  
The Psycho Hero returned with a knife and a key. Antoni had never been so relieved to see a knife (which is saying something as he had amassed quite a collection). He quickly undid the handcuff and held the knife to Antoni’s collarbone. “You can make something. That’s it. You’re not getting up to do anything else.”

  
Getting stabbed was a pretty good deterrent to the heroic ideas Antoni had come up with, but with cooking, he could buy time for more planning. He wasted no time getting up and going over to the modest hotel “kitchen” setup, but slowed down when he felt the blade of the knife against his back. This was obviously going to be a marathon, not a race.

And he realized that more than ever after he spent the next couple minutes looking over the kitchen. In fact, maybe he realized that he wasn't really a marathon type of guy either.

  
There was nothing in the cupboards. Not a thing. Not a plate, not a cup, not a toaster or mixer. No bread, no butter; no spices, no seasonings. Literally all he had was a coffee pot and water. 

  
Antoni’s good, but not magic. 

  
Staring in the empty cabinet that he resented for being so metaphorical, Antoni recalled the last Instagram comment he read before he deleted it, which wasn’t the lone catalyst for deleting his Instagram, but was rather a symbol. 

  
He had gone to some glitzy gay club in the Lower East Side after a series of texts from Andy Cohen begging him to (no, seriously, Andy offered to get on his knees as soon as he saw him. Of course Antoni understood the subtext of that! He’s not stupid! But that doesn’t change how pathetic the image is!). It didn’t take more than an hour for him to want to leave; he set out for a night of being pleasantly buzzed off two weak vodka sodas Andy had bought him. Instead, he spent that hour plied with offers for coke, poppers, and ketamine. If he had to hear _Just come in the bathroom and try this_ one more time, he felt he was going to drop dead, and that wasn’t an option when brussels sprouts season was just around the corner.

  
So he kissed Andy Cohen goodbye, choosing to take the high road by pretending their hug was just a hug, and that Andy’s hands did not spend the entirety of it on his ass (there was something about that guy that seemed to give Antoni a headache every time he saw him… now what was that about?). 

  
Back in his apartment, feeling let down by whole night, Antoni put up a box of whole wheat pasta up to boil and decided some social media maintenance would make an October evening feel much less useless. As soon as he made one post to Instagram, the first comment was, _You can’t cook your way out of a paper bag faggot._

  
Something about it, the simplicity in the one-phrase hateful lie (missing the comma, no less!), magnified the true uselessness of the whole thing. He and a team of overpaid executives and underpaid interns sit around thinking of ways to make him as undeniably lovable on social media, and all he has to do is post a simple #ThrowbackThursday of his first cookbook and people who haven’t ever looked inside it shoot down the post for his apparent crime of being gay and into food at the same time.

  
Before he even scheduled his arm-flex stir-fry shot for later that night, he deleted the whole profile, and then sat back and waited for the barrage of questioning texts from his publicity team to come in, surprised at how hard his heart was beating.  
Instead, he got worried texts from friends and family. 

  
This made his heart beat even faster, and the fact that this was affecting him so much was alarming. The only thing he could think of was to remind himself what an actual workout, what an actual heartbeat was like, so he put the pasta in a colander and left a leftover mason jar of pesto out to get to room temperature while he quickly changed into workout clothes and went to the gym downstairs. His head was really starting to pound, and he was starting to feel queasy and unsteady, but he chalked it up to a little anxiety attack (which were starting to plague him the longer he was single, which was on his therapy to-do list) and left anyway.  
The rest was black. Not even foggy or unclear, just black.

  
And now, remembering what had led up to that, he realized, with a little bit of horror:

  
1\. He hadn’t even responded to those initial texts from his sisters, his agent, or any of his friends. They were worried enough that he had deleted his Instagram, and now must be worried sick. The only indication of time he had was the 4:10pm on the hotel room microwave (AM or PM? Who knows? He made a mental note to figure out where the fuck this hotel’s amazing blackout curtains were from!)  
2\. Had Jonathan really not been one of the people to text him that night? It had surely been at least half an hour between the deletion and leaving for the gym. Had none of those guys? Bobby and Karamo it made some sense (they just weren’t as attached to his Instagram, usually), but not Jonathan? Not Tan?   
3\. Actually, now that he was thinking about it, Tan hadn’t left him any comments since that fateful airport drop off a couple weeks ago. He must really have been furious. Being kidnapped seemed less scary than trying to repair a friendship with an angry Tan France.   
4\. It was just a friendship to repair, right?  
5\. That fuzz-lined blackout was a familiar feeling somehow, but he couldn't place exactly how. Such is the nature of blackouts, he supposes. Next on his therapy to-do list should probably be something about drinking.  
6\. He left half a box of pasta and a whole jar of pesto(!) out to spoil.

  
“What?” P.H. asked. He must have noticed the look. “Did you figure out what you need?”

  
“Just four ingredients.”

  
“… What?”

  
Damn, this guy said What a lot. It really gave Antoni a little bit of reassurance that his next plan could actually work: don’t have the ingredients or appliances to be skilled enough? Can’t cook his way out of a paper bag anyway, apparently? Fine! He had smarts outside the kitchen too. He can outsmart this guy and make his way out. He turned and looked at him, realizing with a chill how fucking big that knife was. “I just need four ingredients to make you a signature dish. Cacio e pepe. But. None of those things are here. If you could just… get them… then…”

  
“Yeah, right. How dumb do you think I am?” It took all of Antoni’s might to police his facial expression right then. “No way you’ll sit here nice and still while I’m out getting groceries somewhere.”

  
“I will. I promise. In fact, you can cuff me back to the bed if you don’t trust me.”

  
“You’ll scream.”

  
“Wouldn’t I have screamed already if that was the plan?”

He seemed to be lost in thought on that one. Antoni stared at him, trying to force as nice as a smile as possible. It wasn’t too hard. This guy actually wasn’t ugly or anything. Cute, in a world where he learned how to use hair gel the right way and let his beard grow into something shapely. Jonathan would fix him up in no time.  
Wow, had Jonathan REALLY not noticed? Really, had none of them?

Antoni willed a tearful lump in his throat away. He was sure none of the other Fab Five were wasting any energy on him right now past a sympathetic tweet. Had they even noticed he was gone? All the more reason to get out of this mess and figure out how to repair things. “You can put the gag back on, even.” That should work. As soon as this guy recuffed him and left the room, he would simply pull at the posts until they broke.

“Fine.”

_YAAASS!_

P.H. led him to the bed, where Antoni quickly and obediently laid himself out. He was anxious to move forward with this plan, so the redoing of the cuffs felt like waiting for water to boil or a turkey to brine or kombucha to ferment or a butter sauce to brown. In a separate universe, he would really be enjoying the agonizing slowness of this, and really, what a shame that now handcuff play would be triggering forever. 

“Are you smiling?”

“No,” Antoni bit his lip and cursed himself to a lifetime of never thinking anything funny ever again.

“You are.”

P.H.’s eyes had darkened again, and Antoni realized he was cuffed again. _Back to square one! YOU THOUGHT ‘YASSS’ TOO SOON YOU STUPID FUCKING_ “Please. Trust me. I don’t think this is funny at all.”

“You think I do?! You think I wanted this to be how it went? I just wanted you to acknowledge me! I just wanted us to have a good time! And now everything is wrong, you’re laughing at me, I even had to get the knife out and that wasn’t supposed to happen yet!”

He ignored the horrifying implications of "yet" and decided on ANOTHER new plan. He was surprised at his own innovation! When he had felt so stuck with recipes lately! All it took was facing death! So he couldn’t cook his way out of danger, or think of a clever way out. 

  
Maybe he wasn’t smart enough or skilled enough, but could he be cute enough?

“Can I make it up to you somehow?”


	7. Asteroids in Orbit: Part 2: Lilith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy pain time
> 
> Possibly no updates until the 20th or so which I'm sorry about but also venus is in pisces right now so maybe YOU can just let the love in and forgive me!
> 
> just like our friends jvntoni! see below!

_Where Lilith shows up, divine feminine energy prevails. Lusty, primal and deep—Lilith is all about sexual freedom. This asteroid is also a bit of a walk on the dark side, representing the less friendly or easily digestible parts of ourselves and our human experience._ \- Sanctuary World

_I've been seeing angels_   
_In my living room_   
_That have walked the sun_   
_And have slept on the moon_   
_Covered in the fragrance_   
_Of their own perfume_   
_Telling me the stories_   
_Stories coming true_

_I've been seeing angels_

_They'll hold onto their secrets_   
_And tone our memories_   
_We float above horizons_   
_And sail across the seas._

\- Khalid, "Angels"

* * *

Here is Jonathan’s most recent memory with Antoni. It’s not a privilege to have it, if we’re being honest. Many people had it. He recounted it to just about anyone who would listen. If he recounts it to you, you probably feed him a line about how he did everything he could and shouldn’t have pushed his friend any further. Jonathan doesn’t believe this, but likes to hear it. While he waits patiently for Antoni to return to his life, he wonders constantly how he will ever make up a broken promise like this. 

**July 30 th, 2022**

**San Francisco, CA**

“It’s absolutely the perfect place for you,” Antoni stared up at the ceilings. “You’re the kind of person who can appreciate a good skylight.”

“I know. I missed my calling as a realtor. And you-- did anyone ever suggest foot modeling to you?” Jonathan cracked open a bottle of opalescent purple polish to put over the white base he already put on Antoni’s patient toes. In the background, Christmas music blared from Jonathan’s flat screen T.V.—both men agreed on it, despite it barely being August yet. “Honestly, Ant, there’s not an out-of-place hair on here. Male foot models need really specific stuff and I think you’ve got the makings of a true star.”

“Only you ever tell me that. And you tell me every time we do this.” Antoni kept his eyes above. His adam’s apple was in a lovely full display, and Jonathan was dying to comment on it, but Antoni had told him recently it makes him uncomfortable when Jonathan keeps commenting on random beautiful things about his body.

Jonathan can’t really understand; he can’t relate to not wanting to hear compliments, or not wanting to give friends compliments. But he’s here to spread love, not make people uncomfortable, so he just asked, “What are you looking at?”

“You can actually see the stars out here. I love it when you can see the stars. You can’t see anything in New York. Except… dirt.” He looked innocent, in Jonathan’s flannel pajamas, staring up at the sky.

“And dreams, silly goose.”

“Those, too. I think you could have been a hit in New York. But here makes more sense for you than anything.”

“San Fran? I know, right? Every person I the world I talked to wanted me to try it. Also, I don’t do great against peer pressure. But this time it worked out for me!”

Antoni smiled that crooked smile at him. “Anyone who doesn’t want the best for you is pure evil.”

Jonathan made a halfhearted attempt to pinch his cheek. Antoni batted him away. Jonathan squealed. “I’m holding nail polish you brat!”

“Don’t pinch my face, Bratty McGee.”

“Bratty McGee, that’s so cute, I’m in love with you.”

“I agreed with everyone, you know.”

“That we should get married and run away together forever?”

“Well, duh, but also that San Fran was perfect for you. I’ve thought it for years.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you could make it in L.A. too, and you seemed so determined to move there. I thought maybe it would be bad for you in some ways… unhealthy habits, you know… but I knew there was no way of talking you out of it.”

“I’m an Aries, after all.” Jonathan finished up the top coat and contented himself patting Antoni’s feet. “Is that a bruise?”

“Where? On my left calf? A SoulCycle casualty, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, I just wanted to ask.”

“Of course,” Antoni hummed along to Silver Bells, until he noticed Jonathan staring at him. “Not this again.”

“I just want you to know I’m here for you as soon as you’re ready to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing more to talk about, Jonathan. He slapped me once. It was a big argument. It was right before you got there—there wasn’t time for anything else to happen. So there’s nothing else to say. I promise.”

“Why didn’t you let me help you with the jacket that night?”

“I just felt kinda jumpy that night. I didn’t have anything to hide.”

“Since when do I make you jumpy?”

“He just got in my head a little… about you.”

“About me? What, that I was gonna molest you and steal you away?”

“No, well—no but he tried. But then I just spent that night with you and I realized how wrong he was. About you. About me. About everything. And it made me realize how much I needed to get away from him. I would have broken up with him if you couldn’t come with me; I wasn’t that scared. I would just _rather_ do it with you there. I would rather do almost anything with you there.”

“I have bad news.”

“What?”

“He was right. I’m gonna molest you and steal you away.”

“You already did a long time ago.”

They shared a series of awkward schoolboy giggles and a small shoving match. The toenail polish got messed up and they both gasped in unison, then giggled again. Jonathan sighed and grabbed for the bottle again and a few nail polish remover wipes (if you’re surprised he had a full pedicure spa kit out, then… are you lost?)

There was silence, and the beginning of Jingle Bell Rock, and then a sniffle. When Jonathan looked up, Antoni was looking up at the sky again, one little tear rolling down his face. Jonathan reached down and kissed his ankle, right above his birthmark. Antoni sniffled again and another tear came down.

“Antoni, I love you. I just want to know how many other times it happened.”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Because this is a lot of secret for one little Antoni to deal with by himself.”

“It wasn’t the only time,” His words were a little choked, but Jonathan could hear what he said. He could always hear what Antoni said.

“Do you want to tell me more about it or is that as far as we’re getting today?”

“Next time I see you. I’ll tell you more. I promise.”

“Pinky promise.”

Antoni took a deep, shaky breath and held up his finger, but kept it close. “I need you to promise me something too.”

“Bring it.”

“Don’t tell anyone else about this.”

Jonathan stared back at him for a long time. “What if you need help?”

“It’s not—don’t worry. It’s not like that. It’s not an after-school special.”

“But what if I need to tell someone because you’re in danger?!”

“Jonathan. That won’t happen.”

“Add that to your pinky promise power, buddy, because I’m holding you to it.”

They locked pinkies and Antoni rubbed his face his with the sleeves of his pajamas on his other hand.

Jonathan said, “Don’t get snot on my P.J.s.”

Antoni giggled and sniffled one more time. “Do you want me to go get those Coolhaus sandwiches I brought?”

“Once the nail polish dries. We’re not barbarians.”

“You, maybe. I ate a turkey leg walking around Union Square the other day.”

“Ew, never talk to me again.”

They giggled again. They had not yet unlocked pinkies.


	8. Pisces Rising: Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You left comments and kudos and yet, here we are  
> Because this chapter actually has been written for quite some time  
> because I was scared to write it so I got it out of the way really quickly
> 
> This whole fic has been helping me get out of the writer's block for the stuff I do for my Work in my Real Life and so I decided to write stuff that scared me on purpose  
> I'm only sharing this with you because I was feeling the Aquarius cycle a little early I guess and I'm sittin deep in thought over things
> 
>  *****TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE AND INJURY*****  
>  If you want to read most of the chapter but stop at the yikes part, stop reading at the "just WAIT--" section.  
> If you are nervous and want to skip the whole chap, you can and still get the gist of the plot
> 
> Stay safe out there, don't let Uranus tell you what to do even if it squares the sun this week

_Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces are the water signs of the zodiac. Water represents the emotional undercurrent within ourselves and our environments. It’s all that exists between the cracks, so it’s deeply associated with the psychic realms. Water signs are sensitive and empathetic- they’re highly responsive to emotions and energy. Water signs are also powerful and persuasive, and can seamlessly adapt to complex situations. Excessive water creates a flood of escapism, confusion, and hyper-sensitivity. Without water, however, there is a drought of compassion._ \- Sanctuary World

_This is Major Tom to Ground Control  
I'm stepping through the door  
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way  
And the stars look very different today  
For here  
Am I sitting in a tin can  
Far above the world  
Planet Earth is blue  
And there's nothing I can do  
_ _Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles_  
_I'm feeling very still_  
_And I think my spaceship knows which way to go_  
_Tell my wife I love her very much she knows_

\- David Bowie, “Space Oddity”

* * *

“Can I make it up to you somehow?”

“No. We’re done.”

“There has to be something I could do.”

“There isn’t a way out of things sometimes. That’s why I brought you here. I wanted you to know what it felt like to be trapped.”

“I understand that more than you think. I understand a lot more about you than you think.”

“Like what?”

“Like what you need. Like what I could give you.”

This flirting was a little more heavy-handed than what Antoni was used to. Usually all he had to was drop some hints and he would at least earn a trip to a bathroom with some hot guy in a club. Whether he wanted it or not. That was part of it, too—if this guy was going to assault him in THAT way, he wanted to just get it over with already. It wouldn’t be the first time he experienced assault of some kind.

And it did seem to be working. Psycho Hero’s hands, maybe absentmindedly, had landed on the waistband of his work pants. Yikes. So he did want that. Antoni made a mental note to start speaking out against consent issues in the gay community, if and when he got out of here alive. _That’s right. We are getting out alive. Stay on task._

“I can give you what you want.” He tried to open his legs in as sexy a way as possible, just a bit, not really sure what this guy found sexy, praying it was him.

P.H. sat on the edge of the bed. “You would give that to me? Now? If I just asked?”

“Of course. You don’t even have to ask. I know what you want. Just take your pants off. Come over here. And relax.”

P.H. stared at Antoni for a moment, as if waiting for him to change his mind, as if he weren’t handcuffed to the bed.

After a moment, P.H. got all the way up on the bed and came closer, as if to mount him. He smelled like the same laundry detergent Antoni recognized from seemingly every drop-off wash-and-fold place in Manhattan. His stomach turned a little as P.H. lay next to him, and he hoped he wouldn’t be triggered by that smell forever.

 _Are we just… hugging?_

“Is this what it’s like with all your boyfriends?”

“This is exactly it.”

“Because you like it rough, right? I remember you said that. In the thirst tweet thing. You like to be choked. Right?”

 _WHY THE FUCK DID I EVER SAY THAT TO THAT STUPID FUCKING BUZZFEED OF ALL PLACES THAT STUPID WEBSIIIIIIIIIIII_ “Sometimes. Or just like this, with handcuffs, that’s enough, DEFINITELY enough, you know, to get me off.”

“Is this like how it’s like with Tan, too?”

All Antoni could think of for the next at least thirty seconds was _What?_

Then, _I guess I understand him and his Whats a little better now._

“Yeah… exactly like… with Tan.”

“I knew it. That’s what we all imagined. I knew we were right. I knew it wasn’t just for the cameras.”

“If I had just one hand free, even… I could make you feel so good…”

P.H. reared back to look at him. “Just one?”

“That’s all I need.”

“I thought you didn't want to get out?”

“I'm not trying to get out. Where would I go?” He prayed P.H. didn’t realize how little sense that made.

He jumped backwards off the bed. “You DO just want to get out!”

“No, just one, just for a minute, I can show you—”

“You want to get away!”

“No, please, I mean, I just want to make you happy!—”

“As soon as I let you out, you were gonna hit me? Or take my bat? Or something?! You manipulative… piece of shit… faggot!!”

_Oh fuck. That’s not good. Faggot never portends anything good. Oh fuck. Well maybe—Lean into it?!_

“No! I mean yes! That’s all I want! I just want to suck your dick! Please, never mind, I don’t need my hands!” Upon mentioning of a blow job, P.H. ran back to his suitcase to grab his hammer. Antoni had probably never talked so fast in his life before these next few seconds: “Please no or you can have my ass you can do whatever I don’t need hands I don’t need anything I’ll do anything or we can do nothing and I’ll be quiet just WAIT—”

The hammer hit his jawbone.

Hard.

Antoni heard and felt a crunch unlike anything before.

(And he’s had lots of street food.)

Until the next one, when the hammer connected to his eyebrow.

And one last one, when it hit him not even in the jaw, but square on the front row of his teeth. 

His last clear thought before a strange white heat took over for quite some time was:

_So much for being cute enough to get out of anything ever again!_


	9. Asteroids in Orbit: Part 3: Juno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you as relieved as I am to not have a trigger warning for this chapter?
> 
> Enjoy it while you can and consider it your welcome to the age of Aquarius (I am aggressively listening to Hair this week)

_Juno is the asteroid of relationships. Instead of pointing to lust and infatuation, however, Juno gets involved when long term commitments are on the table. Deep loves and lasting partnerships are being negotiated here. As such, Juno is a particularly diplomatic asteroid. It also rules over beauty and aesthetics._ \- Sanctuary World

_She is like a cat in the dark and then_  
_She is the darkness_  
_She rules her life like a fine skylark and when_  
_The sky is starless_

_All your life you've never seen_  
_A woman taken by the wind_  
_Would you stay if she promised you heaven?_  
_Will you ever win?_

\- Fleetwood Mac, “Rhiannon”

* * *

Here is Tan’s most recent memory interacting with Antoni.

As Karamo is quick to remind, memory is a funny thing.

When memories hurt too much, sometimes our brains have a way of blocking them out.

Sometimes our brains change them, and we can clearly visualize things that never even happened.

Sometimes sections of a memory are clear as day, and other bits fall apart.

It can be hard to describe, even harder to capture. A little like trying to picture a constellation in your head when you’re not looking at the night sky. You know the shapes, but the exact brightness of the stars is something you need to see to be sure.

But this memory, you can be sure, is recounted word for word. Because memory is a funny thing, but what Tan and Antoni have is even more so—hilariously hard to describe, impossible to pin down, and somehow clearer than day. A cluster of memories and moments made of light somehow forming a shape.

**September 19th, 2022**

“Antoni, my darling, I know it's not part of your overall image, but please hurry.”

“You have like three hours until your flight.”

“I know but these New York airports frighten me.”

“I’m coming. I don’t want to spill my coffee.”

“That’s the point of a travel cup, love.”

“I guess you wanted me to leave without my keys, too.”

“Well, I see you have them. Unlock this door, you Canadian Pisces!”

“Slow down, you British… Taurus?”

“You don’t remember my birthday.”

“I just didn’t remember when Taurus started. Which airport are you going to again?”

“LaGuardia. I told you a million times you don’t have to drive me yourself. As if you have nothing better to do.”

“I want to maximize my Tanny time. I also need to practice driving in the city more.”

“I love to hear someone needs to ‘practice’ while they’re driving me.”

“So just think of the first part.”

“I will! I’ll think of it all day and all night.”

“I know! That’s why I said it. It’s my Tanny Time—can you hear how it’s capitalized?”

“This is actually very nice of you, this drive. You’re a real doll.”

“Well, it was very nice of you to spend your vacation time in New York here with me.”

“’Vacation time’.”

“You’ll have to practice saying it if that’s what your team insists you call it.”

“I don’t think reporters will care as much as you think.”

“They will, Tan. They love drama and breakups already. When it happens to a gay couple, it’s all the more salacious. After all this time they still think we’re otherworldly. If even one of those magazines gets wind of it, then that’s it.”

“I know how this works too, Antoni. It’ll be fine.”

“Are you still sort of hoping he’ll change his mind?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe if you apologized.”

“I was just doing the same thing he did.”

“Apologize anyway. Sometimes that’s what a relationship is about.”

“I’m aware of what a relationship is about, maybe more than you, dear?”

“Touche.”

“No, not touche. I’m sorry. That was mean. This isn’t your fault. You’ve been great support. You said all the right things. I knew you would. That’s why I came to you.”

“That means a lot to me. Even though you did wait until last night to tell me any of it…”

“I just wanted to have a good time with you first, without having to think about all of that.”

“I always have a good time with you.”

“And you know you can come to me about anything, right? Antoni?”

“Right.”

“Will you crash the car if we hold hands?”

“I’ll crash this car if we don’t hold hands.”

“I don’t understand this radio.”

“It’s XM.”

“I haven’t the fuzziest what that means.”

“It has whatever you could possibly want to listen to.”

“Will it have Adele then?”

“It will have Adele. Just pick something. I hate the switching. It gives me anxiety.”

“For all the little radio stations, passed by, unheard.”

“See, it really does sound sad when you put it that way.”

“You eat live scallops.”

“Hey Tan?”

“Yes.”

“Was there anything besides those affairs?”

“You mean, as a reason?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think there is?”

“I don’t know.”

“You sound like you think that.”

“I don’t! That’s why I asked.”

“Why would you ask unless you had the idea?”

“It’s just… you’ve been traveling for years. Both you and Rob have been interacting with other men, attractive men, for years. I’m just wondering what’s different this time that made him go off and… do that.”

“’Do that.’ Fuck the interior designer.”

“Yeah. Guys like Rob don’t just go off and do that randomly.”

“This time they did.”

“Did you ask him if there was more to it?”

“I don’t need to.”

“You know already?”

“Antoni, he… Doesn’t want kids. After all. He decided, just last month, that he changed his mind. He’s not interested in that life.”

“Oh, Tan.”

“And I had been pushing for it for so long. I talked about it so often. When we picked out the house, I would point to any room, any closet, any patch of clear floor, and say, ‘What about this for the nursery?’ Of course, I stopped talking about it after he just came out and said he changed his mind. I didn’t want to lose him, which I guess is some sort of denial bullshit. But. The damage was done. He knew what I wanted and I knew he—”

“Tan, no, don’t say it like that. You wanting kids is not damage. And you’ve been discussing it for years. He should have made his thoughts clearer a long time ago.”

“But I wonder, what if he did, in his own way, and I just couldn’t see it?”

“Well, that’s not… maybe, but still, he should have communicated better. He should be putting in work to not lose you too. And keep you happy. He’s said he wanted kids forever, too. I heard him say it. He should have—I mean, I don’t even know where to start or end with it. I would probably end with the idea that we’re at that age. It’s time to start having kids or… put the idea away, maybe.”

“I’m not putting the idea away. I refuse.”

“You shouldn’t. I get it. More than you know.”

“… Do you want kids?”

“Yes. I think.”

“I never knew that.”

“Food for thought, I guess.”

“… what?”

“What, what?”

“Why is it food for thought?”

“I just… want you to know you’re not alone. Me and Kev… had kind of an ugly talk about it, and that’s why… that’s why it, you know, didn’t work out. That's why it started not working, at least.”

“THAT’S why? You never told me that!”

“I’m telling you now.”

“You said it was—something else, I don’t even remember.”

“Me neither. So… that’s what it actually was.”

“That’s news.”

“Is it upsetting news?”

“No, it’s just… an adjustment.”

“Go on.”

“Go on about what?”

“What do you mean adjustment?”

“It’s just a new idea, Antoni.”

“What’s the new idea?”

“I feel like YOU’RE the one with the new idea. You tell me. Do you have any ideas right now?”

“...”

“Antoni, tell me your thoughts.”

“…”

“Can you please grow a pair and say what you mean to say?”

“What airline are you taking?”


	10. Pisces Rising: Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** TRIGGER WARNING: INJURY & BODY HORROR***  
> To modify your reading, skip the top section and start at " **He was aware at this point that he was making an unhelpful amount of noise** "  
> But this section will still contain mentions of unpleasant things, be aware  
> It's just the world we're living in now
> 
> We got two small updates two days in a row because probably nothing til next week
> 
> Side note I'm obsessed with The Band's Visit, please familiarize yourself with it. Also that section of fics on this site is so lit.

_On a good day, Neptune’s placement in our natal charts points to how we develop our psychic powers, creativity, and emotional intuition. On a bad day, Neptune in the natal chart exposes our blind spots: the areas of life we romanticize, idealize, or refuse to acknowledge. Neptune spends nearly 40% of its orbit in retrograde (about 150 days) so in many ways, Neptune’s backwards glide defines its spirit. Neptune represents fantasy and illusion, so during the planet’s reverse phase, we are encouraged to backpedal through the fog. Neptune retrograde isn’t about clarity; it’s about sitting in the discomfort and embracing the unknown._ \- Sanctuary World

_Here I am, here I am_   
_and the light is dying_   
_Where are you?_   
_Where are you? Will you answer me?_   
_All alone in the quiet, ah my ears are thirsty_   
_For your voice, for your voice; can you answer me?_

_Very soon, very soon, that's the sound of longing_   
_Are you there?_   
_Are you there? Will you answer me?_

_When the sun and moon and stars are gone_   
_What's left is only you_   
_Will you answer me?_

\- _The Band's Visit,_ "Answer Me"

* * *

**?????W?ds%saF????/aff/A?F/??///!?? ouch**

**Aysd9*Sidjw!98, fuck**

Antoni hadn’t yet been smart, skilled, or cute enough to get out. The only option left was to be strong enough.

This was a troubling thought, since Antoni was having trouble remembering the last time he went to the gym for a full upper body workout, and the last time he ate, and anything between thinking of how much his head hurt and trying to figure out if any given tooth was going to come out and join the small pile on the pillow under him.

He was losing the ability to be 100% sure of anything.

He was about 90% sure P.H. had left the room,  
80% sure he couldn’t see out of his right eye at all,  
70% sure he peed his pants,  
60% sure his nose was broken,  
or was it already?  
Oh right! It was.  
What comes after that?  
Right, 50% sure that he has nothing else he’s even that sure of, and only  
40% sure he has what it takes to muscle out of this situation.

While only being 30-10% sure P.H. hadn’t come back into the hotel room yet, without any rhyme or reason or purposeful pattern, Antoni just started tugging on the right handcuff, the one on the creaky bedpost from way before.

He was aware at this point that he was making an unhelpful amount of noise and that his hand was really starting to hurt. But what did it matter if he was going to die anyway? He might as well get as injured as possible to up the charges against this guy. He ruined Antoni’s face, triggered memories from all the worst sexual experiences of his life, and magnified all the friendships he had lost due to his own social anxiety. Also ruined a pretty good amount of kink for a while. He could think of more things, but again, his entire brain felt like it was throbbing, and he was trying to focus on dislodging the bed post.

His brain threw this memory at him, from seemingly out of nowhere, the deep dark depths of a concussion, like an asteroid hurtling through space, just shy of denting Earth--

_Can you please--?_

But the thought was falling apart before it became a full image.

 _Can you please grow—_ Antoni can sort of hear it now. A voice, a familiar voice, with a rhythm to it.

 _Can you please grow a pair._ Remembering that first phrase, man, that took effort. Have you ever been in physical pain from thinking a thought? Or was it just the memory, not a full thought? At least now it wasn’t disintegrating.

 _Can you please grow a pair and say what you_ … He can see a face, in a car, in his city, at the airport.

 _Can you please grow a pair and say what you mean_ … Now he can see the face. The face was more than familiar. He knew it.

It was Tan.

Everything is a cloud right now, but he can still see him, each of those sculpted features, beautiful, clear, as if they were right there in front of him.

Antoni gave his wrist one huge yank. He felt wet and air and pain and knew the skin just ripped open on his wrist. But still. More motivation. If he could only see how brave Antoni was.

 _Can you please grow a pair and say what you mean to say?_ If he could only see right now!

 _Can you please grow a pair and say what you mean to say?_ Tan would see one day!

 _Can you please grow a pair and say what you mean to say?_ He would see Antoni grew a pair!

 _Can you please grow a pair and say what you mean to say?_ Because Antoni was not going to die today, he is going to see Tan again!

He thought of it again and again until the door to the hotel room threw open. In timing with the door, Antoni yanked one more time and threw his body over. The entire bed post came off with a snap. His wrist made a snap sound as well. And it felt like it was on fire. And there was a collision. And Antoni didn’t know it was. But he did know two things. He was 100% sure he had grown a pair. But 0% sure he could do anything except lie on the ground forever.


	11. Asteroids in Orbit: Part 4: Vesta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day when I own property, my household rule will be that if you don't stan Bobby Berk, you can't come inside
> 
> Next chapters get longer again, get jazzed!

_Vesta governs the hearth and home. Named after the Vestal Virgins, Vesta is a guardian of all that is sacred. Vesta makes sure you remember your keys and turn the oven off. It’s also an indication that devotion or rituals are making, or should be making, to enhance your daily life._ \- Sanctuary World

_I saw the sky like I never seen before_   
_You thought I was above you_   
_Above this in so many ways_   
_But if I got a condo on a cloud_   
_Then I guess you can stay at my place_

\- Frank Ocean, “Pilot Jones”

* * *

Here is Bobby’s most recent memory with Antoni. It was combed over, hashed out, a million times, a million ways. He wrote it out in a journal. He read that journal entry to Dewey. He typed it up in a Word document. He printed out that document and read it out loud in his office. Each time he recounted it, a new detail sprang up, messing up the order, and each time he reads it, he writes a new note to himself in red pen about a small detail he should have asked more prying questions about. It was all starting to look pretty disorderly, and if there’s one thing Bobby does not fucking want, it’s disorder. So once and for all, here it is, and maybe by sharing it with you, it can be filed away forever.

**Los Angeles, CA/New York, NY**

**September 25th, 2022**

Bobby just received the fourth sort of scattered text in a row from Antoni about what his ideal home décor aesthetic was. He sent out his own text to Antoni— _If you can, just give me a quick call. It’ll be faster for both of us. Also want to hear that lovely voice. xo  
_

Not five seconds after he sent it, Bobby’s office phone rang. He picked it up. “Look at you, you know my office number too. I’m impressed.”

Antoni’s smile could be heard over the phone. “I have them saved in my phone as ‘Bobbers Business’ and ‘Bobbers Casual.’”

“How can I help, dear?”

“I’m getting this new place near Central Park and it’s kind of a weird layout and I don’t know I should be planning a remodeling or just start from scratch or work with what I got. I was going to spend all morning staring at pictures on Pinterest but then I decided to reach out to someone who knows what the hell he’s doing!”

“You know what the hell you’re doing more than you think.”

“I don’t know the first thing about decorating.”

“You’ve probably picked up some things just by being around me.”

“I doubt that theory. I’ve seen you try to bake.”

“I won Nailed It.”

“Jacques had a crush on you.”

“Hold on, why are you moving up to Central Park? I thought you loved downtown.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Have we met?

“Should I send you the floor plan?”

“That’s only step one.”

“Okay, I’ll get my computer and email it in a sec.”

Bobby listened to the sounds of Antoni walking around, then opening up his laptop, all while humming some sort of little tune that Bobby didn’t recognize; surely something obscure on purpose. Normally this kind of lack of preparation would tempt Bobby into firing a client off the bat, but today he just waited, content to hear some happy Antoni noises on the phone.

“I’m sorry. It’s taking forever. I need a new laptop.”

“Shame you can’t afford it.”

“I’m pretending I’m losing money to my sister because she seems to expect me to pay her kid’s college tuition. As if our parents can’t help out. In the meantime, how are you? I miss you dearly.”

“You never come out to L.A., do you?”

“Well, you could come here!”

“My skin doesn’t do great in the cold.”

“Right. We talked about that. Oh, it’s coming. Okay, I’m sending it.”

“I got it.”

“Pretty nice, right?”

“More than one level is interesting for a New York apartment.”

“I have my sources.”

“In your ideal world, what are you envisioning? Like would be the centerpiece for this apartment? What general looks do you like?”

“Clean. Modern. I like when you have a dark wall.”

“… A dark wall in what room? Doing… what exactly? Give me something here, babe.”

Antoni started to talk, then huffed for a moment. “What do you think of this place as a whole?”

Bobby had a pen to a monogrammed notepad, and the only notes he had taken said,

_Dark wall – navy maybe opposite big window_

_Suggest fall Anthro wallpaper collection_

_Bedroom no space, tall curtains  
_

_Antoni what do you want?_

Bobby tapped that last note with his pen. What did he think of that place? Same thing he thought about most upper-level-but-not-FILTHY-rich New York apartments: too small, too little natural light, too much exposed brick, and not special enough for any of his dear friends. “It’s really nice, but what makes you want it?”

“I just really need a new place, kind of quick.”

 _That_ was a different tone. Bobby wheeled his Ikea chair over to the doorway and stuck his head out the door to see if anyone was too nearby. _I thought we were joking when he said he wanted to borrow money from me that one time..._ “Why kind of quick? What’s wrong?”

“Oh no! Nothing! I just… need a refresher. I think this place is sucking the life out of me.”

“Why would it do that?”

“Just... bogged down by memories.”

“What kind of memories?”

“Hold on,” There was a shuffling noise, something clinking. Bobby could picture Antoni, bopping around his kitchen, fidgeting with anything he liked, which in his kitchen would be everything. So why was he so eager to get out?

“Antoni, is there something you need to talk about?”

“No, honestly, it’s just—ugh, hold on, hold on.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Nothing! No worries! Please, Bobby, I’m just getting something out of the oven.”

Bobby only felt a little better. He was definitely avoiding something now, which was weird because he was the one who called. Weren’t the Fab Five past this—needing to worm issues out of each other? Bobby himself called Karamo not forty-eight hours prior to do nothing except whine about his receding hairline.

There was a clunking noise, and when Antoni spoke again, he was eating something. Bobby wanted to ask what it was, but knew Antoni wanted him to, so he just waited. “I think I misled you earlier. I made it seem like I was dramatically storming out of my place because I’ve been traumatized by all my bad memories. That’s not the case. I just haven’t been to a new place in years and I think of things like all the people who had sex with me in my bed. Or used my toilet. Or ate something in my kitchen. Mostly they’re good memories! But either way, it’s just too many.”

“Have you tried getting a new—”

“Mattress? Yes! Recently, as a matter of fact. It’s—what should we say—not christened?”

“The life of a bachelor is not all it’s cracked up to be, I take it,” Bobby put away his pen entirely. “Antoni, here’s the deal. If you want to switch places for a while, it can be done in temporary ways. Don’t go buying properties over random feelings.”

“Okay. You’re right.”

“If you’re serious about _renting_ this place, we can still talk about decorating.”

“Okay! I am!”

“I’ve got some pictures here. Just send me some examples of what you like. Send me your Pinterest board.”

“Anything else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I guess. Do you have any more questions for me?”

1.) Why, really, are you moving? 2.) Why this place? 3.) Why this neighborhood? 4.) Why a new APARTMENT? When will you open a new restaurant? 5.) Aren’t you bored with just the one? 6.) If not, HOW? How are you not just bored with one project? 7.) Same with the book. Same exact thing. Can’t you do another cookbook? God knows you’ve cooked enough in your life to make half a dozen more books! 8.) Is it because you don’t think you’re original enough? That’s insane! Half the shit you’ve made me is just wandering around a strange kitchen and throwing things in a bowl and making a feast out of it! 9.) Do you even realize how smart you are and all the potential you have? 10.) Why don’t you apply yourself, every skill set you have, and realize you could exceed everyone and date whoever you want and do anything any of us can! By any of us, I mean anyone in this whole fucking world! “Just one.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna want to keep that kitchen island?”

There was one of the longest pauses Bobby ever heard in a conversation, and believe that he has had some very long, very awkward, very tense conversations in his life. “Yes.”

“Oh right. Of course. For cooking.”

“I have to go for a bit. Can I call you back about this tomorrow night?”

“Of course.”

“Bye, I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And then Antoni hung up. And believe that Bobby has had conversations he regrets. But if he were to rank them, a process that would be too painful to even begin, this one might be number one. Because they managed to make a design vision and plan for his brand new place in under half an hour, and they still managed to talk about nothing of value. And up until October 19th, 2022, Bobby believed it was their last conversation ever.


	12. Retrograde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter starts what I call our HOME STRETCH and then I would say the WORST is over but be aware I have a TOUGH STOMACH so that means LITTLE  
> If YOU don't like something, talk over your feelings with someone you trust because Mercury IS in Pisces right NOW 
> 
> *****TRIGGER WARNING: BODY HORROR*****  
>  To modify your reading, skip the second section entirely (starting in Voorhees, NJ), or read the first sentence and last two sentences of it.

_The truth is, planets don’t *actually* go backwards; it’s an optical illusion that skews our perspective. Likewise, our vantage is warped during planetary retrograde—this is a time to look inward rather than take action. Retrogrades are a good time to go with the flow. That way, when the planet goes back to its direct course, you have a new point of view on the things that matter most. So, don’t fear the retrograde; embrace moonwalk!_ – Sanctuary World

_License to ill_   
_I promise I won't turn the whole world to Cloverfield_   
_On the real, yeah I will_   
_I'll destroy it and then rebuild_   
_Just for thrills_   
_Sometimes you got to do it_   
_Sometimes you show the tough love_   
_No one is above_   
_What you are hearing now, dude_   
_No matter who else included, I'm saluted_

_Embrace the martian_   
_Embrace the martian_   
_I come in peace_   
_But I need y'all rockin' me_   
_Me, please, embrace the martian_

\- Kid Cudi, "Embrace the Martian"

* * *

**Los Angeles, CA**

“I really thought I was successful right up until now,” Bobby came out of the lavatory. The only normal thing about the bathroom was the small size. Otherwise, the bright red wallpaper and lavender scent were luxurious. “Look! She has black toilet paper in here for some reason.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to take that as a souvenir,” Karamo spoke softly. His bomber was covering a lump of napping Tan France on his lap. Karamo’s Impossible Challenge of the Day for him in the wee hour of that morning was to get some sleep. Tan swore he couldn’t, then promptly did. Maybe Taylor Swift’s private jet had magical sleeping gas piped through the air conditioning. It wouldn’t be shocking.

Also, Bobby's vibe reminded him of a helium balloon, and he wasn't down to pop it just yet. At least someone was looking up. “Not as a souvenir, but maybe as a scrapbook item?”

“Morbid scrapbook you got there, my friend.”

Bobby ignored him and put the roll in his messenger bag, grabbing his phone. He wasn’t staring at it for more than a few seconds before his mouth dropped and his eyes popped open. He tried to recover his face, but Jonathan immediately peeked out of his pink Snuggie and shouted, “WHAT?”

“It’s… probably nothing. Just something Dewey sent me. Just… nothing.”

Karamo peeped that just as soon as he saw an uphill climb, Bobby was deflating. Without many other options, Karamo blurted, “Jonathan, keep it down, please, baby. Tan’s trying to sleep.”

“I’m never keeping it down again as long as I live.”

“You can’t do anything now. This plane’s ten minutes away from taking off.”

“Bobby, what was it?”

With his phone in front of him, Bobby was staring off into space.

Karamo’s heart quickened. Bobby was giving blue screen of death. That was extra rare. Time to step in. “Bobby. Seriously. What was it?”

Bobby kept staring into space, but said, “We should get off the plane.”

Jonathan kicked his Snuggie onto the floor. “I’m NEVER getting off the plane, what’s wrong?!”

“It was a People article. Quoting his real estate agent. That place Antoni talked to me about designing… he never closed the deal. It’s been sold to someone else for a week now. And he stopped going to look at places since then.” Bobby plopped down his seat and slid down it, rubbing his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, everybody. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have made it seem like such a big deal. God, why did I EVER think it meant anything? Fuck, this is what I get for having any hope… FUCK!” The last Fuck echoed across the plane. He plopped onto his seat and turned himself over, facing the window, now just a shaky pile of white hoodie and khaki shorts with some very miserable dark blonde hair peeking up at the top.

Karamo didn’t bother telling him to be quiet. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Bobby lose his cool. Had he gotten frustrated over Home Depot fucking up shipments? Over the wrong swatches getting ordered? Over interviewers asking invasive questions? Yes, but this was different. It was akin to seeing your dad cry for the first time—alarm over such a rare sight, and guilt over feeling so alarmed. Karamo was aching in his heart to get up and hug Bobby, but was sure it wouldn't help much. The ache transferred to his stomach when he thought of Antoni, and how quickly a hug would solve most of his low moods. He was truly going to miss him.

Before any tears could start, Karamo was startled out of his thoughts by Jonathan reaching a still, soft hand toward him. Karamo took it, not sure what else to do.

After a moment of quiet and holding hands, Jonathan said, “I have one more thing we can try.” He wasn’t saying it with much confidence—alarming considering how many things he said and did with confidence.

“Can it be accomplished before takeoff?” Karamo was at his limit for trying anything besides acceptance. He was dying to take a Xanax and sleep for the next however long it takes to get to where he doesn’t want to be.

“I don’t know. I guess it depends. On how much he’s willing to talk.” Jonathan took out his phone and held it like a precious jewel. “I found the number of that ex boyfriend who hurt him. I had it saved for some reason… it says Antoni Summer Guy. It must be him. Maybe Antoni gave it to me when I visited and I don't remember.”

“Why would he give it to you?”

“Some morbid reason related to everything we’ve been talking about, I’m sure.”

“And what do you plan to do with it?”

Jonathan grinned like he had just landed a triple Lutz. “I don’t know! Call it, maybe?”

Jonathan’s smile was infectious, but Karamo still told him, “Better go in with a game plan. He might not pick up for a stranger at all. He might hang up once you say you’re name. And if he’s sitting at home, I highly doubt he has any clue where Antoni is anyway.”

“Maybe that’s not all we want to know?”

“At this point, can’t move forward without knowing anything else.”

Jonathan had already dialed the number. “It’s ringing.”

“Jonathan.”

“Yes?”

“Never change.”

Jonathan reached out and held the collar of Karamo’s shirt as the phone rang. He put it on speaker.

A sleepy male voice picked up. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this…” Jonathan tapped Karamo's shirt as he thought. “Um...”

“You don't remember his name," Karamo said. “Solid start.”

The voice on the phone lowered to something between a whisper and growl. “… If this is another tabloid—”

“This is no tabloid, sir. This is Jonathan Van Ness.”

“Oh. Um. Hi.”

“Hello.” Then Jonathan froze again and looked at Karamo, mouthing something like, _I’m sorry what in the heck have I done why didn’t you stop me?_

Karamo said, “Say whatever you want. This phone call is more for you than anyone else.”

“Who is that?” said the man on the phone.

“That’s Karamo Brown and both he and I would like to know if you know anything about where Antoni is.”

“Bobby Berk too,” Bobby had come out of his cry-hole into their circle, red-faced but standing tall. “He wants to know.”

“I think Tan France would too if he were awake,” Jonathan said.

“Christ. I’ve told everyone a thousand times. I have no idea. Call the cops if you’re so convinced, but just so you know, I’ve already talked to them.”

“Okay, a no is all I needed, to be honest,” Jonathan said.

“Okay… then… what else do you want?”

“Just wanted to know some other things about him. I think.”

“That makes two of us. You first.”

Jonathan reared back and looked at his phone like it had started dripping slime. He held it out with as few fingers as possible. “Excuse me, there’s nothing that you to deserve to know. Guys who hit their boyfriends don’t deserve much at all.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“EW that is EXACTLY what someone would say if they TOTALLY DID THAT!”

“Best of luck in finding your friend.”

“No wait! I’m sorry! Just real quick.” He looked around the plane, as if Taylor had anticipated this phone call and used the script as wallpaper on her jet. Jonathan’s eyes landed on Karamo. “Some of us are a little divided on whether or not he’s been using drugs in the past couple years. Some of us think yes. Others think that he would… talk to someone if he was… so can you… like, did he talk to you about using at all?” Jonathan had to take a couple deep breaths and fan his tearing eyes, but his freshly tweezed eyebrows were knitted together in pure determination.

“No. Not while we were dating. In fact, I remember that judgmental look on his face when I wanted to do anything more than weed.” Will’s voice was, if anything, nostalgic, like he yearned to be judged by that face again.

“Were you guys dating in January?” Karamo asked. “Or did you know him then? Ever hang out with him?”

“Oh. Ohhhh. Are you trying to ask about that New Year’s Eve thing in The Village Bar? You saw him then? Yeah, he didn’t take any drugs. Someone put something in his drink.”

Karamo shut his eyes, and kept them shut until the end of the conversation. He heard the rest of Jonathan’s phone call, but only from a distance. Because why would he listen? Clearly, he had never been in tune with his friends. Why start now?

It was no longer doing him much good to self-reflect. All he had was question after question, and for himself, not the world. For the first time in memory, he couldn’t find the answers, no matter how deep he dug.

How could he have missed that happening to Antoni? How could he not have applied his knowledge of drugs, dating violence, and general danger, and how could he have jumped so far to conclude that Antoni had either chosen to relapse, or put himself at risk of doing so without seeking help?

At what point does one admit they’ve lost control of the situation? Is it when Jonathan has to be the one to take charge of gathering information? Is it when Bobby completely unravels in public? Is it when Tan has given up on fighting?

Is it possible one never had control in the first place?

“Excuse me, WHO the fuck did that?” Jonathan shouted loud enough to prompt Bobby to put his hand on his shoulder quickly. Jonathan shrugged him off. “No, I will not be quiet over this and that suggestion is BANANAS!” You could tell he was serious because he didn’t follow that up with the Hollaback Girl cheer. Then he turned back to the phone. “Who did that? Do you have any idea?”

“Andy Cohen, I’d bet money on it. He literally made jokes about it to our face. When he wasn’t making jokes about a threesome.”

Jonathan hung up on him. “I’m calling the cops and reporting them. Both of them.” Bobby and Karamo responded with various forms of “No” but Jonathan held up his hand. “Stop! I’m sick of dicking around. Everything we find out is somehow both scarier and more confusing. Someone besides us has to know what’s up.”

“Andy Cohen did not kidnap Antoni,” Bobby said, laughing a little, but not looking like he found it funny. “I follow him on Instagram. He and his son have been in Israel for a week at least.”

“I’m calling them anyway.”

“Why? Just to get us flagged next for calling in a ton of information, none of it useful?”

“That would be fine with me at this point, honestly. They can flag whoever and investigate whoever. I just want to give them all the facts we know so we can figure out who took him and… put him somewhere. Whatever.” Jonathan held his phone in his lap, sitting up straight, looking ahead.

“So you’re still just as certain that he was taken and not that he ran away?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. The last fact we had is that he was fixing to buy a new apartment in New York, or that this creep might have known where he was. Everything has turned to, like, sand. I think someone has done something truly wicked to my friend, and whoever that someone is, now I just want to nail the bastard. I have all this useless, scary information. I might as well try to pass it on to someone who knows what to do with it. Trying to keep it all straight is keeping me up at night. TSA should count my eye bags as a carry-on.” Jonathan gingerly touched his cheekbones with the back of his hand, like he was checking to see if the bags were still there, and then nodded to himself like _Yup! Still there!_ “I’m also sick of you guys and everyone on the beautiful blue planet acting like if I have to handle anything hard, then I’ll fall to pieces. Even if I do, so what? Like I haven’t put the pieces back together before. Fuck off. I’ll do it again. Hot glue is magic.” He gave the others no more than three seconds to respond. Then, to the stewardess who just entered to tell him to buckle up, “Can I get a vodka and Red Bull? A.S.A.P. but don’t rush if it’ll mess up that bob, it’s pristine.”

As soon as he got his drink, Jonathan took a breath—in for three seconds, out for five—and dialed a number. “Hi, I saw this tip line on E! News the other day…” His phone beeped. “UGH! Hang on. I have a call coming in. Of course it happened right now. I’m sorry. I’ll call back.” He leaned back, mouthed _FUCK YOUUUU_ to the sky, then pressed a couple buttons on his phone. “This is J.V.N. … TAYTAY hello your plane is SO BEAUTIFUL GIRL, we are living in luxury like some GOLDEN RETRIEVERS IN AN UPPER CLASS HOUSEHOLD, FUCK ME UP… no, I didn’t, I was about to put my phone in airplane mode I swear but what’s up? … Check who for… what? Google? They said WHAT?” Jonathan popped up out of his seat so fast, his vodka and red bull went flying all over Karamo and Tan. And thirty seconds after that, Tan would never again be so happy to be woken up early, or to get a drink thrown on him.

_\----------*----------_

**Sunrise Inn Voorhees**

**And**

**Camden County Medical Center**

**And**

**The murky brownout of brain injury**

**Voorhees, NJ**

Leave it to Antoni to find a way to worry about someone else in a time like this.

When he staggered out into the hallway, out of a side exit, and into the backlot behind the hotel, he didn’t get very far before collapsing on the cement. He hadn’t stood upright in a couple days, and between dizziness from the concussion and the pain, he couldn’t think about much for a moment except how grateful he was for the cold ground on his hot cheek. Night had just fallen, and he could still see the faint, dark pinkish-orange of the setting sun in the distance.

The first coherent thought in his head once he made it out was: _Damn it’s hard to get up_. Each time he lifted his head, it fell again. The bed post still attached to his wrist by a handcuff also seemed unreasonably heavy.

Second, he thought because his head felt so heavy and hurting, that he should enjoy that sunset, since it might be his last; he’d had alcohol poisoning (once) and whatever your body goes through when it’s eaten too many oysters (twice). And neither situation felt even close to this.

But third, he thought that if he was about to die, he might as well make an effort to get that fucking psycho-- who ruined a number of kinks for him-- put in jail. That might take longer to do from on the ground.

He lifted his head first, vaguely aware that he was wet, dripping Who Knows What from his face, and that he left another tooth on the ground, and his fourth solid thought was that he would do anything for a La Croix right now (preferably Pamplemousse, the can of which would match this sunset wonderfully).

Somehow, with the thoughts of lightly flavored seltzer (and of course, everyone he ever loved) powering him, he stood, which took most of his concentration, and then saw a car coming in the distance.

A Tesla, no less, he recognized,

(His fifth solid thought)

As he staggered into the parking lot,

Right in the path of the car,

And fell in front of it just in time.

He didn’t get hit so much as he collapsed on the hood of the car as it braked. The young woman driving, bless her heart, wasted no time jumping out of the car and running over to him, calling out for help, gently touching him, asking him what happened to his face, saying it was going to be okay, what the hell was he attached to, was that a BEDPOST?, was that HIS BLOOD on it?, are you JOHN MAYER?, and don’t worry, he was going to live, she would make sure of it.

And at some point after she asked his name for the 911 operator but before he could form solid thought number six, he blacked out. (This was fine. When he did have solid thought number six, much later, after the anesthesia, it would be simply that five might be his lucky number.)

When he came to, he was in an emergency room, getting prepped for surgery. A nurse was talking to him, telling him what was about to happen. Something about wiring and a mandible, something about repositioning his nose, something about sewing his eyebrow. Whenever he tried to talk, his mouth didn’t really want to. He gestured to write, and when a nurse gave him a pen, he realized his right hand didn’t really want to do that either. One nurse said something to another, and they switched his hands and gave him a pad.

He wasn’t using his dominant hand, and in general, his hands were very shaky, but he scrawled out, after a few minutes,

_Is the lady from the car OK?_

_\----------*----------_

**Newark, NJ**

Bobby’s Discoveries In The Wee Hours of The Morning On October 19th, 2022

  1. When you’re friends with Taylor Swift, and you really need help, things sort of fall into place around you.



When you get off her private jet, there’s a car already waiting to take you to the obscure hospital in Voorhees. You’re informed that your friend is injured, and they don’t know how serious, just that he is in surgery and will likely have a lengthy stay in the I.C.U.

  1. Turns out, probably more out of childhood reflex than anything else, when you’re told in a second update during the car ride that head injuries are part of it, your hands can’t stop going into prayer position. And you don’t even notice it until Karamo asks, “What are you praying for?”



“I’m not praying. I’m just… keeping my hands here.”

More insistent: “What are you praying for, Bobby?”

No hesitation: “I just want him to be all there. Or there enough that we can go in and find some of it.”

Karamo just nods and matches prayer position and you start crying for what feels like the hundredth time that week.

2.5. When you start crying again and Tan reaches over to rub your neck, it is possibly the best feeling in the world. No wonder Antoni insisted on it as often as he could.

  1. She has friends in the New York (and surrounding tri-state area) police force: You somehow already know that the obvious perpetrator was found in his hotel room, unconscious (having taken a bedpost to the head.
  2. She has friends in hospitals: You get into the hospital despite the fact that visiting hours are long over, and no one bugs you for a selfie even once. And then, you wait in a private room an agonizing hour for the surgery to end.  
  

  3. The linoleum in the Voorhees hospital is satisfyingly clean, and the walls seem freshly painted, but the whole place is in dire need of color. When you're in the bathroom after finally realizing how badly you need to pee, you pass by a mirror and realize you need color too. This time, out of intention, not just reflex, you pray that you will be adding a dash of color back into your life in the next couple hours.




	13. Vernal Equinox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling unsatisfied with this chapter and also my career and most of my life except for maybe my skincare routine, but that's probably because we have a full moon in Leo right now, and I'm tryin to harness that creative power and it's not going ideally 
> 
> If you're like "I don't think this is how hospitals work" I'll kindly remind you this is a f a n f i c about gay men loving each other via metaphors about s p a c e 
> 
> ***** TRIGGER WARNING: Medical junk*****

_While the fall equinox signifies the Earth's last days before entering winter's hibernation, the spring equinox heralds the end of winter. The two equinoxes reflect death and rebirth, respectively._

_In Pagan and Wiccan traditions, the vernal equinox is also known as Ostara, and these celebrations pay specific tribute to the Pagan goddess of spring. It's believed that when the goddess wakes from a long winter's sleep in March, she thaws the Earth and starts its life cycle anew._

_Not only does the day carry symbolic weight for many people, but it's also one of the two days in the whole year where nighttime and daytime are equal in length._

\- Refinery29

_You are my peach_   
_You are my plum_   
_You are my earth_   
_You are my sun_   
_I love your fingers_   
_I love your toes_   
_The back of your head_   
_The tip of your nose_   
_And you are the reason I'm smiling_   
_When there is nothing to smile about._

  
\- The Front Bottoms, “Peach”

* * *

**Voorhees, NJ**

The doctor, who bore a striking resemblance to Viola Davis (which Jonathan would point out no fewer than nine times over the next week), stepped out into visitor’s room. “You’re all here for Mr. Porowski, correct? He's awake.”

All four of the five stood at the same time. Karamo gave them a brief look, checking to make sure his self-nomination as leader was right. Bobby nodded at him. Jonathan clutched Bobby’s arm and hid behind him. Tan stepped aside and straightened out his shirt, then gave the collar of Karamo's bomber a quick adjustment. And so Karamo was leader, and all was right.

He stuck out his hand, “Hi, my name is—”

“Mr. Porowski has a list of instructions for his visitors.”

“I thought they said maybe he couldn’t talk?” Bobby asked.

“His jaw is wired shut. Between that and the moderate concussion, there’s not much he’ll be able to say for the next twenty four hours or so. Not clearly.”

“So…?”

“These were written out. Now, I don’t want to get your expectations up—these instructions were not written with his dominant hand, and it took him most of the last hour. I don’t guarantee full consciousness when you get in there. I wouldn’t count on any long, meaningful dialogues today. I must admit, I’m even struggling to decipher much of this paper. Still, I can understand the top part.” With that, she handed a wrinkled paper to Jonathan. At the top, in an unsteady scratch, it said, underlined, “GIVE LIST TO JVN TO READ”

“He seems to think you’ll be the most able to understand what he’s saying.”

Jonathan clutched the paper in two hands, holding it out like a holy bible. He looked at the nurse. “Do you agree? Like am I up to the task?”

“From what I’ve seen of your show, which is every season, I’d say so.”

\---------*---------

According to the list, the first visitor to be summoned was Karamo. When asked at a later time why Karamo was first, Antoni would explain that he knew Karamo would give him the strength he needed to see the others. That’s what he _said,_ but in truth, it was kind of the other way around.

As a rule, Karamo likes to sit with emotions instead of run from them, but when he saw Antoni’s face, he gasped and let out a soft, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” but then halted anything else from getting out. After all, he told himself, this was not his moment to absorb the energy in the room. He would have time to cry later. Still, no matter what he said to himself to stop, when he approached and grabbed Antoni’s left hand, he started crying.

Antoni watched the tears roll, patient, squeezing Karamo’s hand. After a moment, he let go and gestured for his notepad and pen, which had been placed on an end table. He gestured too hard and ended up clutching his side before he could accept the notepad.

Karamo carefully transferred the items. “What happened to your side?”

Antoni stared at his pen and pad, seeming to think of the right way to describe it. After a moment, he wrote it in crooked scrawl, _Car,_ and faced it toward Karamo, who cringed upon reading it.

“Antoni, I am so thankful you’re here with us now.”

Antoni stared at him, then returned to his notepad. This time he scrawled out, _You’re welcome_

Karamo read this and laughed. After a moment, his laughter turned again to crying. Between shaky breaths, Karamo said, “I have a feeling you called me in first because you wanted strength. I’m sorry I can’t provide that right now.”

There was another long moment of crying. Karamo let it out, then took a few deep breaths. “I’ll tell you why I cry, but not grieve. Because you are so strong that I know you will come out of this. I know you will heal, and if you must have scars, they will be bold and beautiful and you will wear them proudly. I mean this physically and emotionally. You’re beautiful inside and out and this—” He gestured around at the machinery surrounding the bed. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Antoni stared back at him, searching his eyes for some way to communicate telepathically.

“You know I’m saying this mostly for me, right?”

Antoni just handed the notepad and pen back to him.

“Are you through with talking, or does doing that just hurt too much physically?”

He waved his hand a little in the air to indicate it was a little of both. Karamo laughed softly. Antoni smiled back, but it was made of metal and gaps where teeth should be, which got Karamo crying again. He managed to say, “I should have taken care of you," as he leaned forward on the bed, holding Antoni’s knee as he sobbed. Antoni silently reached out and rubbed his shoulder until he was done. And when he was done, Antoni held him there an extra minute more.

\---------*---------

The second one on the list was Jonathan. When asked later on why Jonathan was second, the reasoning was that Jonathan would barely be able to tolerate going second, let alone third or fourth, but would need someone in front of him to report back what the physical situation was.

He had brought dry shampoo, shears, pomade, nail polish, nail clippers, a nail file, three of the new Essie spring colors, a Nivea cream pot, rosewater facial spray, a fresh razor, Neutrogena soothing shaving cream, Kiehl's aftershave, and an undereye gel patch, all packed in a holofoil-colored travel bag, and clutched the bag in his lap while Karamo was in the room. When Karamo came out, Jonathan jumped up and darted towards the room, purse first, but Karamo stopped him, gently took the bag out of his hands, and pet his head once before letting him go in.

So when Jonathan came in, he marched up to the side of the bed, reached into his back pocket, pulled out a comb, and threw it on the bed between them.

Antoni stared at him, obediently waiting for further instruction.

Jonathan stared back. “Karamo tried to confiscate the travel kit I brought for you. Too bad he didn’t think to check up my ass.”

Antoni laughed, and it came out more of a snort, and he clutched his nose in pain, but his smile didn’t fade.

“I know that sounds unsanitary but I have to use it. I can’t let you sit here with that cowlick one minute more.”

Antoni used his cast hand for the cowlick. When he did, he made a face and nodded at Jonathan like, _Oh yeah, that’s bad._

“Using the cast hand made it worse, silly.” This made Jonathan laugh. “Don’t make me laugh! I planned all day to cry in this moment and my moisturizing routine can’t be put off any longer.”

Antoni laughed again, then reached up to clutch his swollen jaw, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. Jonathan sat on the bed. He waited for the moment of pain to pass. “I broke our pinky promise.”

Antoni pointed to his own chest and gave a little shrug.

“YEAH no shit you did!” Jonathan didn’t even have to think about what he was saying. “And pardon me but I think I wouldn’t have broken mine if you didn’t break yours first.”

Antoni held his gaze.

“You know I’m just kidding, right?”

Antoni held his (good) pinky out. They locked pinkies for a few seconds. Then, moving slower than he remembered ever moving, Jonathan spent the rest of his visit gently combing Antoni’s hair. He chattered softly about the Fab Five's current outfits and hair, celebrity gossip, a suggested hospital skincare routine, his skating lessons, and a vegan ranch dressing recipe he needed help with. Antoni listened silently, leaning into the touch of Jonathan combing long after the cowlick was tamed.

\---------*---------

When asked later why Bobby was third, Antoni would say that he remembered from their show that Bobby’s work always seemed to be pushed to the backburner—the interior design reveals were always one of the last things to happen on the show, and rarely spotted in progress. He knew Bobby would patiently wait his turn, whenever it may be, but Antoni had resolved before the first season was even done to never contribute to any sort of idea that Bobby Berk was last in any way.

“I don’t know how to help,” Bobby stood awkwardly, hands clasped, at the foot of the bed. “I don’t know what to do, what to say, where to stand… usually I know… but today…”

Antoni shrugged.

“Is there something I can get you?”

Antoni shook his head.

“So you feel okay right now?”

Antoni thought for a second, then shook his head.

“How can I help?”

Antoni patted the side of his bed.

Bobby came over and sat on the side of the bed. Antoni gave the empty space another, more insistent pat. Bobby lowered himself down next to him, as slow as humanly possible, as if he were laying next to a Tiffany lamp, not a person. He held Antoni’s good hand between them and kissed it. Antoni rested his head on Bobby’s chest.

Bobby knew that out of the five of them, their pairing was less known for displays of physical affection. He knew that from being this close, his white hoodie could be stained with blood and whatever the fuck a drainage pump holds. He knew that his own right arm was falling asleep. But when Antoni’s eyes shut, Bobby decided that he would trade everything he knew in this world if it meant giving his friend just fifteen minutes of quiet and rest.

So he did.

\---------*---------

Tan had been pacing, the heel in his little black Chelsea boots nearly wearing a hole in the hospital tile floor. As soon as Bobby left the room after about twenty minutes, Tan marched over to go in. Bobby grabbed his hand. “Give him a little while, Tan. He’s asleep now.”

“It’s been a little while,” Tan’s posture was tense but his voice measured. And he hadn’t honestly been less than tense since about 2008. 

“Honey, listen, he’s hurting. And full of pain meds and who knows what. He’ll be fine but right now he really needs to sleep.”

“I’ve waited an hour for all of you. I only need a few minutes. I just need to see--”

“Tanny, sit down. Sit with me!” Jonathan reached over from his chair and pulled at Tan’s other hand. “I’ll wait with you.”

“I don’t need you to wait. That has no bearing on this. I’m sorry. I love you. But this is a touch urgent.” Tan pulled his hands free, gently, a calm smile on his face.

“Tan, I understand why you’re in a hurry.” Karamo came up behind him, close but not touching, as if he were a land mine. “But I promise you when you do get to talk to him, it won’t have any less meaning or love to it because you let him get some rest. In fact, he'll be much more cohesive. He would want that. It’s probably why he put you last.”

“Say I was last one more time,” Tan closed his eyes and clasped his hands, but he didn’t move.

The others watched him for a silent moment. When he opened his eyes, he took a determined step toward the room. A nurse—built like a linebacker, but with a pair of wireframe glasses atop his shaved head—came out. Though he saw Tan had only taken a couple steps toward the room, he stood firm and said, “Come back in the morning.”

“Sir, due respect for you and your profession. You must understand. I’ve been convinced this man was dead for days. There’s a lot I need to say. I simply have to go in and see him. That’s all.”

The nurse put his glasses on his face and glanced down at a clipboard in his hand. He hadn’t yet made eye contact with Tan. “There’s a Comfort Suites a block away from here. Visiting hours start at nine tomorrow.”

“Oooo, can he get a cot?” Jonathan clapped his hands like he just won a prize.

“Family only.”

Karamo put his hands gently on Tan’s waist, but when he tried to pull him back, Tan did not move an inch. “I’m not leaving this building. I would suggest you get that cot. And sir, quickly, please, because I’m _so_ tired.”

Glasses back on the head. Now he meant business. “Family. Only. That couch your friend is sitting on is an option too. If you leave a number at the desk, we can call you—”

Two octaves lower than anyone had ever heard him, loud enough that the hall echoed, veins standing out in his neck, skin turning reddish, a demon from all the way down in the heels of Tan’s boots bellowed, “JUST GET THE **FUCKING COT _NOW_**!”

\---------*---------

When the rest of that night is retold in memoirs, interviews, blog posts, they bore you with the details.

There is a lot to gloss over, a lot that’s not important.  
Bobby running Tan’s wrists under cold water until he calmed down (which took about forty minutes).  
Karamo speaking to Antoni's doctor explaining the outburst (about thirty-five minutes).  
Jonathan crying into a nurse’s shoulder until a cot was secured (about two minutes).

Nurses coming in, checking vitals,  
Nurses changing bandages,  
Nurses messing with drainage tubes,  
Nurses checking his pupils,  
Nurses coming and making sure he wasn’t dead,  
As if Tan had not looked over to check his chest rising and falling every thirty seconds.

Both men waking up in their fitful sleeps repeatedly,  
Antoni a couple times to make some sort of pained noise until someone came in and poked something or other,  
Tan shortly after because each time someone came in, he needed to make sure no one was coming to take Antoni away.

None of this was that important, except for when they woke up at the exact same time, just before sunrise.

What Tan heard was a short, garbled, wet collection of letters, but the nouns were present, and he was ninety-five percent sure what was said was, “I love you.”

Tan wasn’t the type to take a chance unless he was one hundred percent certain. And he was one hundred percent certain of most things. But he was holding the hand of the one person in the world who he would take a gamble on. And so he said, “I love you, too.”

And though it was only half-heard and they weren’t fully awake, it was the most important conversation they ever had, and ever would.


	14. Summer Solstice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was struggling again with this section. The next one has been written for like a century but this one has been redone to fuck and back so idk how it turned out because I have just been starin at it. I'm like too close to see if it's good or not, ja feel? But, listen, you know, *Brad Leone voice* at the end of the day... we are in a Mercury retrograde, in Pisces no less, so let's just take what we can get.
> 
> If you don't count the epilogue (which I'm currently waffling on anyway so don't hold your breath) then this is the second to last chapter  
> I remember when I was a kid on FF.net and we used to call them "chappies" lol  
> Anyway just aged the fuck outta myself, how about some hurt/comfort to take your mind off of it

_Summer solstice occurs when one of the Earth's poles has its maximum tilt toward the Sun. It happens twice yearly, once in each hemisphere (Northern and Southern). For that hemisphere, the summer solstice is when the Sun reaches its highest position in the sky and is the day with the longest period of daylight. Within the Arctic circle (for the northern hemisphere) or Antarctic circle (for the southern hemisphere), there is continuous daylight around the summer solstice._ \- Wikipedia

_The comet said to portend_  
_Untold horrors_  
_And the end of the world_  
  
_But for me_  
_The comet brings no fear_  
_No, I gaze joyfully_  
  
_And this bright star_  
_Having traced its parabola_  
_With inexpressible speed_  
_Through immeasurable space_  
_Seems suddenly_  
_To have stopped_  
_Like an arrow piercing the earth_  
_Stopped for me_

\- _Natasha, Pierre, & The Great Comet of 1812_

* * *

**Voorhees, NJ**

It was more boring than you think, ninety percent of the time.

And the other ten percent, you probably don’t know want to know what happened.

There were many hours spent with them showing IDs to random hospital employees to even get into the room, getting lost on the way there, and waiting their turns behind X-rays and other tests. Once they even got in there, Antoni was often asleep—literally or figuratively. Day one was spent either sleeping or watching _Golden Girls_ reruns. At least, that’s the only part any of them would share outside of their quintet.

Some moments were to never be shared. They would not be spoken of in any memoir or Today Show interview, not written in any blog post or newsletter, not captioned into an inspirational Instastory.

At the end of the first full day, in the grayest, starkest hospital shower you can imagine, Antoni sat in the running water, on a shower chair meant for someone much older than him, wearing a pair of briefs he had asked Bobby to buy for him from the nearby Target. He leaned forward as far as his ribs would allow for Jonathan, who shampooed his hair with extreme tenderness. He had clipped his fingernails down further than they had been in years, just for this.

“I just want you to know... I mean, like, it’s your decision. But just to say it. You can take your underwear off. If that would make you more comfortable. I can look away.”

Antoni didn’t respond.

“Or I can take my pants and underwear off too in solidarity.”

Antoni laughed his little gasping laugh, barely audible over the running water. If Jonathan wasn’t in the middle of a hair-related task, he would have burst into tears.

On the worst night, two nights in, Antoni spent most of that day in pain and in and out sleep, angrily brushing off soothing hands. He tended to curl up and cover his ears, even when no one was making noise. About an hour or so into nap number ten, with no warning, Antoni shot up in bed, his bruised face pausing only for a second in recognition, then screamed, “MY DOG!” and hurled himself out of bed. It took four nurses and Karamo holding him down on the floor as he writhed in his own blood, sprayed from where he ripped out his IV. He shouted unintelligibly about needing to feed his dog, and he kept reaching for his mouth to pull the wiring out. His Viola Davis lookalike doctor swept in, swiftly but calmly, her mouth a thin straight line. She brought over a huge needle, parting the Fab Five like the red sea, and injected him with a hefty dose of Ativan, rendering him into more or a less a zombie. At this point, Jonathan had more or less hidden inside Bobby's sweater. Tan forced himself to watch, biting his fingernails, rarely blinking.

“How can you watch?” Bobby asked him, hiding his face in his hands.

“For his protection,” Tan said through his thumbnail.

When he was settled back in his bed, the linebacker nurse requested the Fab Five leave for the night. He did it quietly and politely, clutching strips of cloth with buckles on the end that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Tan started to protest until, mid-sentence, he realized they were restraints.

He white-knuckled Karamo’s hand the entire walk downstairs, the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, and the entire walk back to the room they were sharing, where he sat, silent, blaring _Iron Chef_ on the T.V.

When Karamo came out of his forty-five minute shower, he looked into Tan’s blank face, getting no eye contact in return. “Do you want to talk about how you feel after today? Just a little?”

“What’s the point? You were there, too.”

“Sometimes it helps just to say it out loud. Maybe someone else has insight.”

“What insight could today have possibly brought you?”

“That he’s going to be even better than I thought he was.”

“Karamo, love, that makes no sense.”

“Of course it does. I’ve got a throbbing bruise on my chin from him trying to fight me off. How many people do you know that got kidnapped, beaten, and hit by a car that could push off four nurses and still have the strength to punch me in the face?”

Tan finally looked over at him, eyes not blank, but not much more than sad. “Do you want me to go get you some ice?”

“No. But here’s what I want you to do. And this is your daily challenge.”

“God, no, I was hoping you’d forgotten. Can’t I just wear crocs for an hour or maybe--”

“Go talk to someone you know who might be able to tell you something surprising.”

“Who? Ask them what? And where should I find this mystery person?”

“I just make the challenges, pal,” but Karamo was smiling like he already knew exactly who it was going to be.

“I’m going to get you some ice.”

Tan picked up his room key, phone, and the ice bucket, and went into the hallway. As the ice crashed into the bucket, in a movement that he didn’t even fully realize he was doing—muscle memory, especially in a hotel—he dialed Rob’s number. The only one he still knew by heart.

When Rob picked up before the first ring was even done, Tan’s legs turned to jelly, and he slid down the side of the wall across from the vending machine, where he would sit and stare at the eight soda selections available for the next two and a half hours on the phone.

The call contained no tearful apologies, no overwrought declarations of love, no threats to drive for hours and meet in the middle of the night. Also no logistics—no talks of who would get what property, when lawyers would meet, when to clear out of the house. Rob just patiently listened to Tan describing the last three days as the ice melted.

\----------*----------

There was a series of brutal interrogations by a bunch of faceless, unsympathetic detectives. Jonathan had become the de facto translator, a self-described “ventriloquist dummy” for Antoni’s broken mouth (and may or may not have told one of the detectives to stop being so rude and try sucking a dick one of these days to tackle that fragile masculinity head-on).

Bobby handled the scheduling for a revolving door of visitors, and daily would rearrange a beautiful display of fan gifts. There were a lot of books, magazines, and other reading materials to catch up on, and Bobby would put a new item on Antoni’s bed every time he woke up. Once, it was not subtly a printed guide on how to get a restraining order in New York City, attached to an article quoting Andy Cohen as he tried to gain sympathy about Antoni’s incident on behalf of every gay man who had ever been physically attacked.

Bobby and Karamo also shared keeping in touch with all of Antoni’s contacts. Bobby sent out updates throughout the day from his own phone, and Karamo manned Antoni's phone, shielding him from a barrage of triggering questions. In the other direction, Karamo had a sense of how much information he could share with Antoni each day—one good day, later on in the week, he did share information about the young man captured from the hotel with a bedpost-shaped bump on his head.  
A young man who worked as a doorman in Antoni’s building (with access to all security cameras) who had 8,209 images from Queer Eye saved to his computer and a restraining order against him filed by an ex-boyfriend from a 2016 stalking incident.  
A young man whose Instagram account had been making one comment, “ _You can’t cook your way out of a paper bag faggot”,_ to each of Antoni’s posts for months.  
A young man who recounted the following story later in court: none of the residents of the building had ever talked to him past asking where their package was, until one day, Christmas 2021, the food and wine star of Queer Eye received his package. Most people said nothing to him, or grumbled about an imagined stain on the package, or complained about the fluorescents in their hallways. But Antoni thanked him enthusiastically, reached into his pocket for a tip, said, “Oh… I only have twenties… oh well! Here you go! Happy early holidays, I guess!” then opened the box of figs his father had sent him and offered the young man one before he left, saying, "Merry Christmas! Try wrapping these in prosciutto one day!”  
This young man had a pair of handcuffs already in his possession, but was content to fantasize, until opportunity presented itself one day. This opportunity was Antoni wandering the building on October 16th, 2022, in the exact same fugue state the young doorman remembered seeing him in on New Year's Eve.

Tan had become his social worker and private nurse, fretting over bandages that looked crooked, checking vitals on machines he had no idea how to read, generally occupying himself making sure Antoni was hydrated, warm, cool, clean, and heard. He asked three different nurses if they had a hospital gown in a color that might wash out Antoni’s skin tone less.

At some point, his family came. His parents were too emotionally exhausted to be able to spend much time there, but his sister held the fort down in the room along with the Fab Five. There was no sense of territorialism; Tan spent half the time asking pointed questions to the nurses perched on her lap.

In the whole episode, through nightmares, through degrading medical procedures, the five of them only remembered seeing Antoni shed a tear once.

He was slurring out a million detailed questions to the doctor about when he would be able to eat solid food again (he had remembered there was a catfish in his freezer at home calling out to be fried). She paused for a second, glanced at the bag of painkillers hooked up to his arm, then looked right at him.

She gave him a paragraph’s worth of unfortunate information, phrases including _catastrophic damage to the joint_ and _a series of follow-up surgeries_ and something about the possible width of his gape—the Americans in the room didn’t know much about centimeters, but it was obvious from her tone that the amount of centimeters was far from ideal, and that it would never improve.

Then she continued her interrupted speech on the importance of antiseptic mouthwashes. She either did not notice his silent tears or chose to move on, just as she chose not to notice the energy of five other people in the room at the time, plotting her death.

\----------*----------

**New York, NY**

The next time he cried was when he was released from the hospital a week and a half later.

This time he cried with some noise, though still controlled, when he entered his apartment for the first time since the disappearance, and Jamón ran across the room and into his open arms. He was crying into the confused dog’s soft back, yes, because he missed him, but also so he could avoid having to look up at Kevin, who had been waiting, standing, for who knows how long.

Kevin had taken care of the dog in his own apartment, and was going to keep doing so while Antoni recovered, but knew he had to bring him over for a check in (without even being asked). Kevin watched him, holding back his own tears, clutching the dog’s leash. After an uncomfortable few minutes, Bobby eventually reached down and gently took the dog from Antoni, transferring him back to Kevin. Kevin silently put his key to the apartment on the counter and left.

Antoni stayed on the floor for a few minutes, sniffling, dog hair covering his shirt, and declined offers to help him up from Karamo, Jonathan, and Tan, only moving when Bobby came over to start picking him up without asking. Antoni muttered something about Bobby’s bad back, and pushed himself up, moving to the couch to mope.

Whereas the Fab Five set up camp in Antoni’s apartment, Kevin never reached out again after he eventually gave the dog back. Both were equally strong declarations of love.

\----------*----------

Everyone went out one day. Jonathan went to yoga. Bobby accompanied Jonathan to the gym. Tan went to get groceries, Karamo in tow to get more gummies.

Between every word on his grocery list, Tan had started to make an excuse not to go. Antoni stared at him from the couch, judging. Finally, Tan said, under his breath, “Just worried that if I look away, you’ll disappear again.”

Antoni’s response was to physically push Tan out the door.

While they left, he rummaged his cabinets and less-spoiled fridge ingredients. He gathered enough for a large batch of kimchi fried rice, but barely. This whole trauma had really put things in perspective, one of the top being that he should put in writing somewhere that if he ever ends up in a coma long-term, someone will have to keep the kimchi in his fridge restocked.

While the pot simmered, he went around his apartment, eventually coming up with four more notebooks or sketchpads. Of course, he had his own, covered in wrinkles and fingerprints from carrying it around. He was considering naming it. Probably Clifford if it’s a boy, Renata if it’s a girl, or Aioli if neither.

When the other men came back, two by two, Antoni sat them down at the kitchen island and served them food. He handed them each notebooks and markers. As everyone else ate in nervous silence, Antoni reached into the grocery bag Tan brought, cracked open one of the new flavors of Ensures, chugged a third of it, and then wrote on the notebook for a moment.

Finally he held it up and waited for everyone to read the longer than usual message. _I know I can talk, technically, but it sounds F-ing gross and kinda hurts my gums. I have a lot of questions and I think this would be a good way to get thoughtful, honest answers. Also just want to bring everyone down to my level because I am selfish like that._

Bobby started to protest out loud, and Antoni just reached over and tapped his notebook. Bobby popped open his marker, pocketing the cap, and scrawled out, in purposeful Virgo italics, _You are the least selfish person I know._

Antoni raised his eyebrows and tore off the page of his own notebook to a fresh one. He wrote, _You need to meet more people._ When he displayed it, he smiled his new smile—more crooked than ever, half metal, and still winning— as everyone laughed. He quickly wrote out a new message. _How’s the rice?_

Karamo started writing this time. _What are these?_ He had drawn an arrow pointing downwards and held the notebook just above part of the dish.

Antoni wrote back, _Bits of kimchi_

_What’s that?_

_Pickled cabbage. And other veggies. Fermented.=, with seasonings  
_

Karamo made a noise between a cluck and a snort. _You got me this time_

Antoni laughed while he wrote, but when he held up his notebook again, it said, _I feel like there’s a lot of elephants in the room. Does anyone have any burning questions?_

Jonathan went, “No—” then “Well—” then “You know what? Okay! Listen.” and started writing at the speed of light. _Speaking just for me I really thought you were dead. This whole thing’s been sort of like seeing a ghost. So I feel like I’ve been distant but its also because like it doesn’t feel real. Also if you had died I thought it wouldve been a rlly shitty way for us to end cause I feel like we were losing touch. felt real bad bout it. Should have protctd u. somehow. idk. My writing is getting worse sorry writin this much s hard yikeS_

Antoni looked at what Jonathan wrote for a long time (not just because it got more crooked and squished in the corner at the end). Then he wrote out, _Losing touch wasn’t just your fault. It’s a 2 way street._

Karamo had been writing for a moment, pausing a few times, once to rip the page off and start again. Finally, he was done: _I imagine most of our questions have to do with what you went through two weeks ago. Before, you just referred to it as “what happened to me.” If trauma is so fresh it might not serve you much good to be trying to analyze it before you've even processed it. You've barely begun physically healing._

Antoni looked at it and rolled his eyes. He scrawled out a quick message. _Sorry I meant to say GOT MY HEAD HAMMERED BY A CRAZY NOW CAN WE TALK ABOUT IT?_

There was a heavy silence after that. Jonathan broke it by snorting a laugh and saying, “Jesus, Antoni Tarantino.”

Everyone laughed. Karamo quickly wrote out, _Just want you to not get overwhelmed! Go ahead then! Take breaks as you need them._ And with that, he put his notebook on the counter and folded his hands over it.

Jonathan said, “I do have a question about your face, is that okay?”

Antoni nodded but pointed to his notebook.

“My handwriting is the opposite of glamorous,” But Jonathan still wrote out his question. _When you knew your face got fucked up, were you mad because everyone goes so nuts about your face?_

Antoni looked surprised, like he hadn’t even thought about it. He sat with it, then wrote out, _I was for a minute. Now it’s kind of a relief. What’s anyone going to say when it doesn’t look right? It’s not my fault anymore._

Jonathan made a noise of recognition before scribbling something on his pad. _Sometimes I want to light my hair on fire cuz I get sick of it  
_

Antoni laughed softly at this but stopped as soon as Jonathan suddenly stopped.

Jonathan wrote out another message, _I talked to Will on the phone_

Antoni saw this message and cleared his throat. He went to write something, but put it down and gestured for Jonathan to continue.

_He said you got your drink drugged on New Year’s. Does that have to do with the same people who drugged you when you disappeared?_

Antoni swallowed hard, and wrote out, _Yes. Same guy._

_Do we know who it is?_

_Sounds like you do_

Jonathan threw the pad on the counter. “Antoni, that’s criminal as fuck! You’ve got to report that! I don’t give a shit if he is the head of Bravo or a million franchises or how many shows he’s got, you can’t do that! We got Harvey Weinstein and he has a crap ton of famous movies! Take that guy down! You have to do SOMETHING! It’s your responsibility--” On that last word, Antoni threw his hands in Jonathan’s lap. His trembling hands took Jonathan’s and put them back on his pen and pad.

Then he leaned over on the counter with his arms covering his head for an agonizing moment. When he came back, he quickly ran a hand through his hair to fix it, and wrote out, in very unsteady scrawl, _Later._

Jonathan wiped his eyes and wrote back, _I’ll help you. Will you let me?_

Antoni nodded. Jonathan leaned forward to stare at Antoni for a moment, as if figuring out if his next move was allowed. Finally, he said, “Fuck it,” out loud and got up to give Antoni a hug.

Antoni let himself be hugged. He stretched out his writing hand, then wrote, reaching his arms carefully under Jonathan’s, _Karamo you may have been on to something._

Karamo let the silence hang for a few more seconds, then took back his notebook after Jonathan was done hugging. _Take a breather?_

Antoni shook his head and chugged the rest of his Ensure. He wrote out next, _Bobbers? Any thoughts?_

Bobby shrugged. He was eyeing Antoni’s shaky hands.

Antoni rolled his eyes again and wrote, _Low blood sugar._

Bobby made lengthy eye contact with Karamo. Then he sighed before he wrote out, _What happened to your new apartment?_

Antoni made a noise of recognition, and then wrote out, _It was no big deal. We had gone back and forth with 3 counter offers. I got frustrated. Decided would rather live further up anyway. That was just last week. Realtor blew out of proportion for news. He wants 2 be famous._ He had to flip a page to cover this longer message. It was accompanied with many sassy bruised facial expressions.

Bobby clicked his tongue. _Want me to fire that asshole for you? I’ll make it hurt. I can be a vile bitch. xo._

Antoni started to write things between giggles. He couldn’t quite get it on the paper, which made Bobby laugh out loud. Antoni smiled and settled for writing, _Anything else?_

Bobby wrote _I love you_ inside a heart and held it up.

Antoni’s eyes filled up with tears. He wrote out, _So symmetrical,_ then took a breath and looked at Tan next.

Tan had already written his response, and held it up: _I have no questions. Just a suggestion._

Antoni went “Hmmm,” and wrote out _Always unconventional._

Tan didn’t see this, as he was already writing out, _I want to move in here with you. Temporary. Just as long as it takes. For you to heal. Mind, body, and soul. 100%. I want to be here, every step of the way._

Antoni stared at this for a long time. He had his pen ready but didn’t write anything. He looked over at Karamo. Karamo stared back at him for a while. It was a staring contest until Antoni’s look became less frozen and more pleading.

Karamo cleared his throat, as if to talk, but wrote instead. _Without thinkin too hard about it what’s your first emotion re: that offer?_

Silence for a minute. Tan was clutching his notebook to his chest, posture rigid on the barstool, staring at his mostly untouched bowl of fried rice. He reached out and put three grains in his mouth with his fingers.

Antoni watched this, then wrote, _Like it’s a favor I will never be able to repay as long as I live_

As soon as he read it, Tan ripped open a new page, and scrawled as fast as his hand could write, _YOUR PAYMENT IS LIVING_

Antoni read it. He leaned down and started to write a response but got a tear on his page. He wiped it away and moved to write again, but got two more tears on the page. He ripped out the page and crumpled it. Then he held up his notebook over his face.

Karamo wrote out a message and gently handed it to Antoni, waiting patiently until he took it. He cleared his throat, pretending it wasn’t an obvious sob building up.

“Wait, no fair, I want to see,” Jonathan said.

Antoni put his head in his arms, holding the notebook above him. Karamo’s message said, _Favors from friends don’t need to be paid, certainly not with you being alone as the punishment._

After a deep breath, Antoni gave Karamo back his notebook, and after wiping his face and shaking out his wrist, wrote out, _I don’t agree with Tan._

“Oh,” Tan said. “I wasn’t expecting that. Honestly. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

Antoni wrote out, _You should stay for as long as it takes YOU to heal._

Tan started to speak again, then wrote, giggling even though his eyes were filling with tears. _That first message was a tricky one and you almost got me. I can’t stand you._

Antoni giggled too and wrote out, _I can’t stand you either_

Bobby was writing something out for a moment. He held up: _By all means but then as soon as you’re done here, you and your husband are going to at least try couples therapy if I have to carry you from here to SLC_

Like a cheerleader, Karamo thrust his notebook high up: _I AGREE WITH BOBBY_

Tan started to write out an objection, but Antoni reached over and held his writing hand still. When Tan looked up at him, Antoni nodded.

There was a moment of silence, and hand-holding. Antoni let go to write out, _Does anyone want more rice?_ As soon as he wrote it, he jumped up to get more and lost his balance. He seemed to regain it just by the sheer power of eight arms reaching out to help, four notebooks falling to the floor.

Antoni waved them away, forcing himself to be steady, but Karamo still stepped up and took hold of his arm. “You made amazing progress just now. I’m not just using that as a therapist buzzword—that was truly a lot of effort. Time to get some rest now. Your work here is done.” He eyed Tan. “For today.”

Tan came up and took Antoni’s other arm. “I need a nap, too.”

Antoni reached over for his notebook, but it was far away, and Tan was showing no signs of letting go. He cleared his throat and said to Tan, “Are you still big spoon?”

Tan clutched him even harder and marched them out of the kitchen. “Always.”


	15. Syzygy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last official chapter! And how fitting that I needed to wait until Mercury retorgrade was done to post it! I was gonna wait until Antoni's solar return to post it but that seemed weird! As if this whole fic was not WEIRD in the first place!
> 
> There will likely be an epilogue and maybe a sequel or at least a vignette or whatevs  
> but who knows when I'll get around to it  
> and I do have another (MUCH MORE LIGHT HEARTED WHICH ISN'T SAYING MUCH BUT IT'S SAYING SOMETHING) Q.E. fic in the works   
> I'll catch up on all that once Aries season rolls around and I am at full power again (I'm an Aries if you couldn't tell by everything about me).  
> so stay tuned
> 
> Happy reading, astronauts!

_In astronomy, a syzygy is a roughly straight-line configuration of three or more celestial bodies in a gravitational system.The word is often used in reference to the Sun, Earth, and either the Moon or a planet, where the latter is in conjunction or opposition. Solar and lunar eclipses occur at times of syzygy, as do transits and occultations. The term is often applied when the Sun and Moon are in conjunction (new moon) or opposition (full moon). ... Syzygy causes the bimonthly phenomena of spring and neap tides. At the new and full moon, the Sun and Moon are in syzygy._ \- Wikipedia

_When the moon fell in love with the sun_   
_All was golden in the sky_   
_All was golden when the day met the night_

_When the sun found the moon_   
_She was drinking tea in a garden_   
_Under the green umbrella trees_   
_In the middle of summer_

_When the moon found the sun_   
_He looked like he was barely hanging on_   
_But her eyes saved his life_   
_In the middle of summer_

_Well he was just hanging around_   
_Then he fell in love_

\- Panic! At the Disco, “When The Day Met The Night”

* * *

Back in the hospital, nurses had provided Antoni’s bedside table with a pair of wire cutters. When Jonathan asked what they were for, the nurse nonchalantly said that when someone has their jaw wired shut, if they vomit and can’t open their mouth, they could choke to death. Antoni seemed unfazed (or in a Percocet haze), but Jonathan gasped and clutched the wire cutters in his hands morning, noon, and night until they left the hospital. Seeing Jonathan worried always sticks with Bobby, who Amazon Prime’d five matching sets of the tool to Antoni’s apartment, just in time to be waiting for them as soon as they arrived to the apartment.

“Ohmygod, we all get matching ones? That’s too cute!” Jonathan wasted no time sticking his hand in the package, grabbing one, and fiddling with it, clasping and unclasping and clasping and unclasping and so forth. “Wait. Are they all the same?”

Bobby, ever practical, just palmed his, getting used to the grip. “Yeah, I just ordered the same one they had in the hospital.”

“How will I know which is mine?”

“Does it matter?” Tan asked, trying to figure out if his pair would fit in the pockets of his insanely tight black jeans.

“It doesn’t matter because yours will always be with you,” Karamo simply walked over, put his deep in the pocket of his sweatpants, and went to sit with Antoni on the couch.

Antoni leaned into Karamo, but kept his eyes on the _Hell’s Kitchen_ rerun on the TV. They watched TV for a moment, the only other sound being Jonathan clicking his cutters. In the quiet, Antoni muttered, almost not heard, “I don’t keep mine with me.”

Karamo took a moment to make sure he heard correctly, then sat up to look at him. “Wait. Excuse me?”

“I don’t like to keep them with me.”

“Then where do you keep them?”

“Wherever. My bathroom?”

“… Is that where they are now?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

Bobby looked horrified. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t like looking at them. So like… cold and metal and… morbid, I guess.”

This even silenced Jonathan. He thought for a moment, then grabbed his Kate Spade and ran out the door, saying something about Pop Tarts.

They watched TV together in silence until Jonathan returned not twenty minutes later with an overflowing bag from Joann’s.

The silent TV party turned into a decorating party that lasted four hours and spread itself over Antoni’s entire living room, including the table, floor, end table, bookshelf, couch, and window sill. They laughed so hard that the downstairs neighbor tapped on their floor. When they fell asleep on the couch, most of them woke up with a scrap of ribbon in their hair or a plastic gemstone stuck to their face.

\----------*----------

There would have seemed to be a lot of visitors to an outsider, but if you only knew how many people asked to come, it wouldn’t seem so high in comparison. With the Fab Five acting as bouncers and moderators (timing visits down to the minute), most people gave up, though a persistent few were rewarded.

Bobby would start every day opening up the Excel document on his iPad, looking into a color-coded calendar of possible visitors.

About five mornings in, Jonathan wandered up to put his chin on Bobby’s shoulder and peer deep into the chart. “Does red mean not allowed?”

Bobby shifted names around, making little virtual Post-It memos to call or text those transplanted names to reschedule. “That’s black. The ones with the whole cell in black. As in blacklisted. Red means they reached out, but I think they would be too stressful to have around for now, but they need a follow-up. I’ll call them in a week or so to re-eval.”

“What about purple? That’s my favorite purple. That, like, deep purple. So royal. What is it?”

“Purple means we have to do something before they come. But they’re allowed to come at some point very soon. Or soon-ish at least. Mostly those are people that I tell to call back later, and I’ll let Antoni decide what he wants once I leave. But while I’m here, I’ll be the bad guy.” He sighed. “Mostly all the purple his family.”

“What’s yellow?”

“They say they're coming, and they're allowed, but I think they might freak out, so for their own sake, I have an excuse ready. Then they’re relieved, and they didn’t have to think of their own excuse—everyone wins.”

“You think of everything.”

“I really do, don’t I?”

“Have you had to make excuses for people?”

“Not one of them followed through.”

“I don't like them. I don't know them yet and I'll keep an open mind but I'm calling it now. Green means go?”

“Yep. Good to go. They fit all the criteria.”

“There’s only three.”

“That’s how it goes when you think of everything.”

In the first week, it was just the Fab Five, and then on days eight, nine, and ten came all the greenlighted visitors.

Ben Levine came on day eight, and bought a literal wheelbarrow of Soylent protein shakes. They could hear it clunking in the elevator before it even hit the floor Antoni was on. Ben said that depending on how healing went, they could keep the wheelbarrow to transport Antoni to and fro. Only Antoni found that funny.   
Ben couldn’t make out what Antoni was saying as magically as Jonathan could, but they crawled through a conversation anyway via notepad, giggling all the way. It lasted until their pens ran out. He may have been Antoni's agent, but business didn't come up even once.

On day nine, in rolled Carla Lalli Music, dragging a massive Yeti cooler full of the best liquid meals that every chef from the Bon Appetit Test Kitchen had in their arsenals. She herself quietly cooked an elaborate lentil stew in Antoni’s kitchen, pretending not to mind as he hovered. When a paparazzo had the nerve to come all the way up and knock on the door while she was there, she threw a boiling hot cup of stew on him, making sure to get the camera too, lamenting only the waste of food.

Day ten came, and despite the sleet outside, Mama Tammye flew in, filling the room with sunshine. She could only stay for one day, but she did not leave until she held everyone’s head in her lap at least once.

\----------*----------

Jonathan, surprisingly, was the first to go home. He couldn’t put off his wildly popular stand-up tour any longer. His “goodbye” tour of the household started with his and Bobby’s appropriately Midwestern hug fest, which lasted (timed by Antoni) nine straight minutes.

Then he hugged Karamo tightly, muttering into his ear, “God, you’re so beautiful, but so tired, stop being tired, Karamo go take a nap, do it right now, like right after this.”

Then: “Now you listen here.” He held his pointer finger in Antoni’s face as he hugged Tan tightly, pushing Tan’s face into his clavicle. “When I send you something in the mail, you better USE it. I don’t want to hear shit about something not being glamorous enough for you. You know what’s glamorous? Healing. You get a package from me? You open it, and you put it wherever it goes, immediately, unless your rib is still cracked, I have no frame of reference for how long that needs to heal, so then one of them puts it where it has to go. Is it a shower chair? You better sit that bony beautiful butt on it. Is it scar cream? The best ones smell terrible, that’s how you KNOW it’s good. Is it liquid vitamins? Chug it or I’ll fly back here and kill you.”

“I’m not gonna take it then, so you come back.”

“Surprise, I’m coming back in two weeks already. I got scared and so I booked a flight last night. But if your corgi’s not back, no sale.”

\----------*----------

Karamo left after that. His son Jason had asked, with honestly no trace of passive-aggression, if he should make a trip out to New York City just to check in, in person. Karamo took it as a sign it was time to come home.

When it was apparent that sleepless nights filled with nightmares and general worries were becoming a pattern, all four of the five started taking shifts sleeping next to him. It didn’t lend itself to restful sleep, but if the bed were big enough to make the choice, they would probably all be co-sleeping each night.

On the morning he was going to leave, Antoni pushed Karamo’s shoulder until he woke up. “Jesus, I thought you hated morning. Stop. Five more minutes.” Antoni pushed him harder. “Come on, dad. Snooze button.” Finally, Antoni put the notepad on his face until he held it up to read. “Antoni, you can talk, even with all that stuff in your mouth.”

“It sounds repulsive,” Antoni shielded his mouth with his hand when he spoke, as if to prove his point.

“Who cares? You don’t have to impress us.”

“Just read the thing.”

Karamo raised an eyebrow at him, which is Karamo for _This discussion is far from over._ But he stayed quiet and read the note. Then he read it out loud: “’What is this challenge you have for Tan?’ You remain one of the most observant men I know, Antoni.”

“Imagine if I didn’t have the concussion.”

“When we didn’t know where you were, we came together just to commiserate, from all over the country, and yet, Tan France decided he wanted to keep secrets because they were hard to talk about. We started a fun challenge where each day he had to do something that seemed impossible. Then at the end, maybe his secrets wouldn’t seem so insurmountable.” As he spoke, he got up and gathered up the outfit he had set aside for himself (that Tan had set aside). He didn’t have to do much else, as he had packed his suitcase the night before (Bobby had packed his suitcase the night before).

“That explains the new hobby as of yesterday…” Antoni stopped to listen. From inside the bedroom, they could hear the clicking of Tan and his knitting needles, and the occasional, small, British “Oh, fuck,” of a missed stitch.

“It was that or count every hair on his head. And the risk of frizz doing that was too great.”

“I’m going to miss you when I go to sleep the most. You were the best one to sleep with.”

“Not even Bobby?”

“He helped a lot but he keeps the room too cold. Or he doesn’t want to sleep with any blankets. I have to cling to him for warmth like we're in a blizzard. Jonathan’s the worst. He attaches to me like an octopus. And then he wants to talk about everything.” Antoni said all this, knowing full well he enjoyed any excuse to cling to both Bobby and Jonathan when it got late, quiet, and dark, and pretended he didn't know Karamo knew this, too.

“What about Tan?”

“He doesn’t seem like he wants to be there.”

“He just needs a little more time. I promise you he wants to be here.”

“I believe you.” But Antoni looked sad as he lay down and hugged his pillow to his body, like it was going to be his only nighttime companion in the world.

“You don’t need me or him to sleep. You can do it on your own.”

“But if I want you, can I Facetime you?”

“At any hour of the night.” He crossed over and kissed Antoni’s forehead before heading toward the bathroom. “But you won’t.”

“I will,” he muttered into the pillow as Karamo shut the door. But as soon as the shower started, he fell back asleep.

\----------*----------

Karamo wheeled his suitcase out into the living room. Tan was making either a very square scarf or a doily. Either way it was lopsided. “You’re leaving? I didn’t even finish whatever this was going to be.”

“You don’t need to do any of that anymore. I mean, realistically, you never did. But I appreciate the gesture.”

Tan’s mouth dropped. He looked at his crooked knit square. Through the holes, he could see the palm of his hand, the light pink of a scar from when he smashed a mug in Bobby’s kitchen. _That seems like a lifetime ago._

“It was only about four weeks, actually.” Either Tan had been speaking his thoughts out loud, or...

“Can you read my mind?”

“No, thank GOD.”

“You bitch.”

“And we’re back to normal,” Karamo flashed him his pearly whites as he put on his baseball cap. Tan laughed earnestly. “This isn’t part of our agreement, but would you consider doing one more thing, just as a favor?”

“No.”

“What about as a favor to Antoni?”

“Maybe.”

“Just try therapy again. A couple sessions while you’re here. I've got the card for this woman in the area, Julia, she's amazing.”

“Karamo…”

“Antoni’s going, too. Obviously. To a different therapist, but... if you even go at all, even once, it might help him feel less alone.” He produced a business card from his wallet and handed it to Tan.

Tan took the card, with a generous eye roll. He tossed it over where his doily sat, rejected. “He’s not alone.”

“Just consider it, please.”

“I will do just that.”

“Be good,” Karamo said when a notification from Lyft dinged on his phone. “I know you will.” He turned around to leave, but not before Tan launched himself from the couch to hug him from behind with all his might, pressing his face between Karamo’s shoulder blades. Karamo rubbed Tan’s wrists until he got a phone call from the driver and gave him one last quick hug facing each other before leaving.

When the door shut behind him, Tan had expected to start crying, but he felt empty instead. His eyes felt more dry than ever. He sat back on the couch, took out his phone, and dialed the number on the card Karamo gave him. As it rang, he grabbed for his pile of yarn and knitting needles to start a brand new pattern.

\----------*----------

Bobby left third. The night before his flight, he and Antoni stayed up through the night, talking about everything they could think of—dealing with trauma, how to start working out again, what was in their distant future, whether or not they should run out to get a quick spray tan together in the morning. Bobby joked that he had written a list of everything he meant to talk about (he actually did, but didn’t need to take it out at any point).

They were lying on each other in a pile of limbs leaning over Bobby’s laptop, which blared _First Wives Club,_ which they had talked through, but silenced themselves for the “You Don’t Own Me” dance number. After the scene, Bobby paused the video. “Wait, I have to show you something. I was going to do this earlier this week. But then I lost my nerve, and then I forgot, and honestly, it’s just going to lose some showmanship if I have to send you a PowerPoint over email.”

He brought up a bookmarked web page—a townhouse in Chelsea.

“I happen to know this realtor, and I asked her to sort of put this on reserve. It’s perfect for you. Look at the size of that kitchen! You have a huge island, all these brand new appliances, and you could live in that walk-in pantry. And look—a built-in bookshelf just off of the kitchen, where you could put all your cookbooks. A porch for your parties. In this space, right here—” He was tapping the screen, not even caring he got fingerprints on it—“I could design you a whole bar area for cheap, we can get the counter vintage somewhere. And look at that bath tub… can’t wait to see your thirst pics from that thing. And… sorry, hon, I was just kidding. What’s wrong?”

Antoni was sitting up for a while, looking between Bobby’s happy face and the screen, but now he was looking at his lap. “You put in so much work. You always put in so much work. But I need to tell you. For my next place, I was actually thinking something like a short-term rental, something… on the west coast.”

Bobby took this in. After a few seconds, he simply deleted the bookmark from his browser. “You say the word and I will find you something out there.”

“I don’t want you to have to put in any more work.”

“It’s a different kind of work if it’s for people I love.”

Antoni teared up but still smiled. “Can we do it later?”

“Take all the time you need,” Bobby put the movie back on and they settled back into the bed, their eyes closing.

Antoni muttered, “I do want to take a picture in that bath tub, though,” and they giggled until they fell asleep. Bobby had to rebook a flight the next day—they slept right through it. Hadn’t even set an alarm.

\----------*----------

No need to bore you with the details again, because it was more boring than you think.

There wasn’t much talking, because Tan was holding back and Antoni just couldn’t.

There were more than a few schedule mishaps, even as they both used the same pug-themed calendar in the kitchen: it was hard for healthcare receptionists on the phone to belief that a British male voice was really in charge of Antoni Porowski. Many appointments were also just forgotten as soon as they were booked, because, as Doctor Viola Davis pointed out in the hospital, a concussion after a few repeat (involuntary) GHB dosages serves short term memory no good.

Despite a few frustrating conversations about being on time for appointments (and cleaning the blender properly), Antoni and Tan amused themselves in near silence, taking turns, like best friends do, for just about everything:

Antoni dug up a soup-only cookbook, and they took turns trying each recipe.   
There were many Netflix binges, taking turns deciding what they should watch next: Derry Girls (Tan), Sabrina the Teenage Witch (Antoni), Kitchen Nightmares with Gordon Ramsey (Tan), Salt Fat Acid Heat (Antoni), and rewatching all of Nailed It (mutual decision).   
They took turns filling and emptying the dishwasher (which took quite a while, as they didn’t use many dishes between them), walking the dog (but only after dark, when they were least likely to be seen), and dropping off laundry (all mixed together, of course, in a Greenwich Village place that stayed open late and used unscented detergent just for them).   
They took turns with sleepless nights filled with nightmares.

Some things weren’t in turns:  
Antoni got the first shower most days.  
Tan went grocery shopping most days.  
Antoni did all of the dishes once his ribs healed.   
Tan was always the big spoon.

They would always lie together, like two crescent moons pressed together. Sometimes too tired from the weight of existence to do anything except lie in silence and enjoy each other’s warmth. Too tired to sleep.

A couple times Antoni would have to go for some new horrific dental procedure or invasive check up, and the would spend the night pressing his aching head between pillows as Tan rubbed his back and made the soothing “Sshh, sshh, sshh,” noises he remembered from his childhood. These memories were reserved deep in his brain, presumably for a future child, but when Tan realized they had been repurposed for this, he felt only satisfaction. It was meant to be.

One night, Tan broke their crescent formation entirely, and popped upright in the bed, just before he fell asleep. “I have a question. Why was I the last one to see you, that first day in the hospital?”

Antoni rolled over to face him. He didn’t turn the light on, so they were just illuminated by what leaked through Antoni’s curtains—more city light than actual moonlight. They could still see each angle, dip, and contour of each other’s faces, more out of memorization than anything else. After a moment of finding the reflections in each other’s eyes to substitute as starlight, Antoni said, “I didn’t know what I wanted to say yet.”

“Did you ever figure it out?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you said it since then?”

“I don’t say much these days.”

“I noticed.”

“It sounds gross.”

“Antoni, nothing you do could ever be _gross_ in my eyes. Hearing you speak, or even try to speak, when I thought I might not hear it again…” He reclined in the bed again so they were lying, facing each other, just a couple inches apart. “That’s not gross. That’s lovely.”

“I just wanted to say that night, and that whole week, while I was… gone, that I’m sorry. For making you wait. Because you’ve already waited for so much and you shouldn’t have to wait any longer.”

“I was always willing to wait for you.”

And what about any of that made sense?

Did it make sense that Antoni was there in bed with Tan, and not Rob? Did it make sense that Antoni was alive at all, when a matter of weeks ago, this would defy most odds?

Did it make sense that even though it was the dark hours of the early morning, they could still see each other perfectly? Every angle of the other’s face, every hair from missed morning shaves, every bruise or scar or wrinkle, the tears filling their eyes, reflecting what little moonlight they could find?

Did it make sense that though they couldn’t see where their mouths were, they somehow knew exactly where the other’s mouth was, and their lips met just once in the night?

Or that even though Antoni’s face was so damaged, and they hadn’t brushed their teeth in some time, or shaved or used chapstick, it wasn’t painful or uncomfortable at all, merely perfect?

Did any part of their relationship ever make sense?

Does the entire starry universe surrounding them make any sense either? Does it make sense that we assign personalities based on where some stars were when you born? Does it make sense that an asteroid could come wipe out everything we know at any point that it feels like it? Does it make sense that the sun we orbit was ever made in a random explosion of elements in the first place?

It didn’t matter if it didn’t make sense. For one moment, as Tan and Antoni’s side of the planet faced away from the sun, it made all the sense in the world.


	16. Epilogue: (Walking toward a) Lunar Eclipse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, this moon phase is complete. May this Aries season continue to give you what it always gives me, esp. during this scary pandemic nonsense-- courage to see things thru. Can I get an amen up in here
> 
> If you liked this, check out my two other brand new QE fics, written in a bored quarantined momentum that will be impossible to maintain once I get back to work in real time:  
> \- Restaurant AU, more straightforward eventual Tantoni: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349361/chapters/55937929  
> \- AU in which the Fab 4 out of 5 are toys that come to life to help a sad college age Jonathan: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317870/chapters/55854100
> 
> Even if you have no interest in those, I still appreciate your attention. Thank you for stargazing with me and the boys.

_A lunar eclipse occurs when the Moon passes directly behind Earth and into its shadow. This can occur only when the Sun, Earth, and Moon are exactly or very closely aligned (in syzygy), with Earth between the other two. A lunar eclipse can occur only on the night of a full moon. Unlike a solar eclipse, which can only be viewed from a relatively small area of the world, a lunar eclipse may be viewed from anywhere on the night side of Earth._

\- Wikipedia

_All alone in the corner of the night sky_   
_Spiral bones of a supernova starlight_   
_Fell in love with another burning bright she_   
_Dreamed of a way to ignite, she said,_

_Tonight_   
_Come on, come on collide_   
_Break me to pieces_   
_I think you're just like heaven_

_Come on, come on collide_   
_Let's see what a fire feels like_   
_I bet it's just like heaven._

\- Sara Bareilles, "Cassiopeia"

* * *

**Provincetown, MA**

Like old times, Karamo drove most of the way from their NYC meeting point. It included—in order—one gas station stop, one Wawa stop, two bathroom stops, and one Dunkin stop. By the time they hit Dunkin, even a man as calm as Karamo just about had it with interstate traffic, and Bobby had to take over.

Jonathan had been DJing a Lizzo power hour from the front seat, and threw himself across Bobby’s lap in the Dunkin drive-thru.

“And a large iced coffee with just a little cream, please and thank you.”

“Maybe pace yourself with that drink?” Bobby didn’t bother moving Jonathan off his lap to drive forward. “We are not stopping to pee again.”

“Bobby, who cares, it’s a beach house, it’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s just making us take forever.”

“I wanna take forever with your FACE,” Jonathan sat back in his seat but reached up to run his finger along Bobby’s beard line until he couldn’t help but smile.

Orders were passed around, and Jonathan happily clutched his breakfast sandwich. “I decided not to restrict myself in my veganism and I’m proud of me for making this allowance.”

“Want to see something I’m really proud of?” Antoni waited until all eyes were on him as he clutched his breakfast sandwich. Bobby watched in the mirror, but had to pull over briefly for a celebration—they all screamed when Antoni was able to drop his jaw all the way open to eat.

\----------*----------

Everyone got to a day or night for their very own favorite activities, and all the others tagged along with very little complaint.

On the first day, of course, Bobby insisted on hitting every credible antique store possible (read: a lot). Tan seemed to take a surprising amount of joy in this activity, pulling at Bobby’s arm every time he saw a piece he liked.

“Oooh!” Tan nearly yanked Bobby off his feet by the sleeve of his summer floral button down, then immediately smoothed back the sleeve he wrinkled. “That. I want that for my foyer.” He bobbed on his feet as he pointed at a tall, thin, curvy mahogany tree-like structure. “This tall drink of water of a coat rack.”

“That clashes with all the seventies stuff you picked for the living room, Tanny.”

“I’ll have a new decade for each room.”

“Great! And I’ll have a seizure.”

“Oh, so cynical. It'll come together. You'll see.”

“Isn’t it also a little small? Can’t fit more than three coats on that thing.”

“Does it matter? I’m the only one who will be living in that house for the foreseeable future.”

Bobby sighed. Couldn’t really argue with a point like that. “At least promise me it will indeed live most of its life covered in coats.”

“Are you accusing me of not having enough coats? No one has _ever_.”

Jonathan had picked clubbing, having apparently picked what he was sure was the most gay-celebrity-filled club in the town (and there were quite a few). He insisted they go on the first night, in case anyone wanted to find a little “Provincetown Piece” for the week, and he repeated this phrase no fewer than twelve times. So, in the spirit of positivity, Karamo and Bobby went, but spent most of the night either texting or refusing to dance with anyone who wasn’t a member of the Fab Five.

Jonathan parked himself next to Karamo at a booth to rehydrate and recharge. They people-watched, Jonathan clutching Karamo’s bicep. “This is very _Bodyguard._ I’m feeling very Whitney Houston. But you’re way hotter than Kevin Costner.”

“I don’t know, I thought he was pretty hot.”

“Do you think that Costner-looking guy over there with the Blue Moon is hot?”

“No. Why? Do you?”

“No. I’m trying to find someone to go talk to Antoni.” He peeked at the next table over. “Is that Andrew Rannells? Think he would do it or—no he seems like the type to get scared of like scars and stuff. Too pretty.”

“Don’t be pushy, Jonathan. Let him go at his own speed tonight. This kind of atmosphere can be a lot for anyone, let alone someone with P.T.S.D.”

“But his incident had like, nothing to do with flashing lights or loud music. I thought?”

“Doesn’t matter. Easy overstimulation is kind of part of the package.”

Jonathan craned his neck, scanning the room, nerves reading through his beard and smoky eye.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to preach, or worry you. Just keep an eye out. That’s all.”

Jonathan stopped scanning and giggled. “Oh, I’m not worried.” He nodded toward the door, the only quiet and well-lit spot in the area, where Antoni was continuously fixing his hair as he chattered away happily to Billy Eichner.

\----------*----------

Four hours later, Jonathan popped up in his bed, and gave a small shout, as he had forgotten briefly where he was. He patted his head and felt his hair had been tightly tied up to sleep in, which meant he must be somewhere very humid, and so he remembered he was in Provincetown. Good.

He got up to pee, giving himself a pat on the back—he wasn’t woozy at all, which meant he had done a good enough job of pacing his drinks (only two glasses of wine, plus half of Karamo’s last Heineken when he got bored, and also four generous sips of Tan’s gin and tonic, a full glass of water between each of these things). There was a lot of liquid, which meant a lot of peeing, but that also wasn’t why he got up. There was a disturbance in the friend force somewhere.

After the longest pee of his life, he migrated downstairs. The sun was just starting to rise, and the TV in the beach-themed living room was on, turned nearly to mute. The combination cast an eerie indigo glow over the living room especially popped over the general sandy palette of the room. He stopped to admire it-- if Jonathan were to ever dye his hair, he would want it to be this color. His eyes stopped over Antoni’s form, sleeping, curled up against the couch, his back to the TV. He wiggled around as if in pain.

Jonathan looked around to see if anyone else was up. He wasn’t really sure what to do with someone having nightmares. He knew when he had them, he would feel lowkey embarrassed to have someone wake him up. (He didn’t know why, beyond some vague control issue, and made a mental note to bring it up to his therapist when he returned to San Francisco). When the Fab Five camped out in Antoni’s apartment for his recovery, on Jonathan’s co-sleeping nights with him, they both seemed content enough to sleep with Jonathan throwing himself all over Antoni and the bed like a starfish. Had he been mistaken? Or had things gotten worse for Antoni? Would it be better to help, or pretend like he didn't see? It couldn't be the latter; Jonathan was good at many things, but pretending was not one of them.

Without really knowing what he was doing, Jonathan padded over to Antoni and slipped his hands under his torso.

Antoni whipped around and grabbed Jonathan’s T-shirt collar. His eyes were like an animal's in headlights, huge, shiny with tears and fear. A few seconds of recognition later, he let go, and whispered, “I’m. Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Jonathan grabbed his hands. “No. Stop. I’m sorry.”

A few more seconds later, Antoni’s eyebrows knitted. “Um. Yeah. What were you doing?”

Jonathan had to think about that one. “I think I was going to carry you to bed.”

The wide-eyed terror in Antoni’s face broke just a bit for a smile. “How well did you think that was gonna go?”

“I—well, listen. Everyone knows you’re the thinker in this friendship. I’m the doer.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

He waited a few seconds for Antoni to finish catching his breath, rubbing his wrists. “On a scale of one to ten, how not okay are you right now? Do you want me to leave?”

“Like a five.”

“How can I help a five?”

“Any way except leaving.”

Jonathan sat next to him and pivoted, throwing his legs across Antoni’s lap. Antoni rested his head on Jonathan’s shoulder, and Jonathan felt that the force was no longer disturbed. He allowed them a moment of silence. Then, “Were you watching QVC?”

“I could have sworn it was the Food Network when I came down here.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Can it wait?”

“Mmm… no.”

“Thanks for letting me off the hook.”

“Me? Never. Anyways. What were you dreaming about?”

“More or less what you think.”

“Is it just like a flashback in a dream?”

“No, it’s like… something else bad happens. Something unrelated. And then there’s some sort of dream deus ex machina, and I’m back in the hotel room.”

“Oh, weird. Is that like, always the general structure?”

“Yeah. Like in this dream, I was cutting something in my kitchen—”

“An avocado?”

“… It doesn’t really—”

“It was an avocado.”

“Okay fine yes it was an avocado,” He rolled his eyes in that bratty teenager way Jonathan loved but would never admit he loved. “But then I cut myself and bled, like, insane amounts of blood. Like Carrie amounts of blood. And I haven't cut myself on an avocado in years. Then I blacked out and I woke up and thought ‘Yes! I finally beat the game. I woke up somewhere else.’ Then I figured out I was just there, but it was all red instead. Like that’s the only reason it took a while for me to figure out I was right back there.”

“Jesus buttfucking Christ that sounds horrible.”

“It’s no fun.”

“You’re so brave,” Jonathan started rocking them together. “You’re like my brave little son and my mom friend at the same time. My brave little toaster.”

“Oh, look. The sun is rising. So pretty.” Antoni leaned forward to gaze out the window for a second before flopping back onto Jonathan. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re also whatever kind of friend gets distracted by sunsets. How do you balance it all?”

“I feel redeemed because we’re leaving Tan out of this lovely sunrise, but also like we should go wake him up.”

“No, this is just for us. And then you and him can go find a different sunrise somewhere.”

“Our friendship is more of the sunset type, I’ve figured out.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“I probably won’t have an answer.”

“What are you two doing?”

“I REALLY wish I knew how to answer that.”

“Let’s switch it up. Can I tell you a secret?” Jonathan turned around again to sit up. He put his hands on Antoni’s shoulders and looked directly into his tired eyes. “That new L.A. house he’s moving into has like fifty hundred guest rooms. Just say the word, and any one of them are yours. And frankly, the master bedroom would be, too. Not just because of what you guys have, but also like. He’s pretending he’s going to be a strong handsome bachelor for life now, but a strong wind could blow over his resolve. You should be that strong wind. And fast before, Rob caves instead. They shouldn't get back together, but they would, and then no one would be happy. Least of all you.” Now he broke the intensity to reach up and let his hair out. “After that speech, I’m really craving a hair flip but the timing is completely ruined.”

Antoni had not blinked once. “I've never been able to figure out what _type_ of friend you are, per se, but I think everyone should have one.”

He allowed his hair flip for that comment. Then an ad for a some sort of clip that promised to give your hair unnatural volume played. Jonathan gagged. “Are we really still doing bump-its? In 2023?”

\----------*----------

Antoni couldn’t think of an activity to do in town that wasn’t food-based, and they already had a full roster of oyster flights and lobster rolls scheduled. Finally, since their rental was as close as you could get to the woods, he decided he wanted to catch some fireflies. They were all surprised at how quickly it went from sunset to pure darkness after dinner, and the act, meant to have a mature feel with bottles of wine opened on the porch, took on a childlike vibe in its urgency.

“Help me!” Bobby ran out from behind a bush with his jar. “My flies are dying!”

“Stop shaking it!” Jonathan screeched at him. Even though there weren’t many high shrubs, and his shorts were already pretty short, he still held them up, clutching his flimsy pockets in his hands, an empty jar tucked under his arm. “You will never hold my babies ever, Bobby!”

“Oh no…” Bobby emptied his jar. Dead flies slowly fell out, lights dimming. “The lightbulb butts are coming off.”

Karamo made a gagging noise as he went back up the steps to the porch. “Now I’m glad I couldn’t get any.”

“That’s not what you said a minute ago, sore loser,” Jonathan looked off into the distance. “Is that smoke? Are we in the middle of like a forest fire?”

“They probably have a fireplace,” Karamo retreated to the porch. “I’ll be back. I just need a quick nap.”

“You can’t nap in the night, silly.”

“Watch me.”

“He can sleep whenever, remember?” Tan said, but he wasn’t looking at any of them from where he sat on the porch. He was staring, transfixed, at his jar. Two little fireflies hovered inside. In rhytmically alternating pattern, they glowed a dim yellow, little dots of light appearing in Tan’s dark eyes. Antoni stood over him, playing with the sleeves of his hoodie, looking between his own jar and Tan’s glowing eyes, in his own perfect alternation.

Jonathan was holding one little firefly in his hands, his jar abandoned someplace in the grass. “I want to make a fire, too. I wish we had a fireplace.”

“We do. Wait… Jonathan, baby, did you not even notice we had a fireplace?!” Bobby asked.

“WHAT? Ohmygod can we please make a fire? Do you know how to do that? It seems like something you can do.”

“If there’s wood, maybe…” Bobby sounded unsure, but was already heading inside.

“I’ll go look for wood,” Jonathan bounded off the porch. “I’m good at that. L.O.L. I’m hilarious. Don’t everybody all laugh at once now.”

“Don’t bother by that pond,” Antoni called after him. “It’ll all be too damp.”

“You’re too damp.”

“Touche,” Antoni couldn’t give him a witty response, he was too busy peering inside a little hole he made in his cupped hands. Then he gently opened them and a little firefly hovered unsteadily over his palms.

Karamo reappeared from the front door, now wearing his silkiest pajamas, a pair of sandals, and his glasses. Jonathan had seen him for less than a second before calling out from over by the bush he was rummaging through, “You’re serving me such a bold nighttime look.”

Karamo chuckled, "All for you, Jonathan," and looked up at the sky. He pointed toward a point above the house. “Is that a constellation? Or is it just like a clump of stars?” He looked around for someone who would know, ending on Antoni.

“I don’t know everything, Karamo.”

“Not sure I agree.” Karamo smiled that winning smile as he looked down at his phone, sitting on the porch steps next to Tan, his hand absentmindedly landing on Tan’s shoulder.

There was the sound of branches breaking from where Jonathan was, followed by a quiet, distant, “Oh, oh jeez.”

“I’ll be back,” Karamo followed that noise.

“Come look,” Antoni said to Tan as he stepped down the porch steps. “It’s a much better view of the stars off the porch.”

“I can’t see what’s in that grass at all,” Tan said, biting his lip to peer around Antoni and squint into the night. “Who even knows what’s out there? Spiders… worms… nightcrawlers…”

“That sounds like something that’s only in the U.K.,” Jonathan called out from somewhere far away.

“I’m sure Americans have that here, or at least an equivalent.”

“What if I held your hand?” Antoni held out his hand. “Would that make it less scary somehow?”

“Somehow,” Tan took it. “If I feel even one thing crawling up my leg, it’s game over.”

“It’s a deal.”

Tan stepped out into the grass, one small, careful foot first. He was right; in the dark of the night, with the lights in the house mostly off and just the stars and moon illuminating them, it looked like his Jack Purcells were walking on a void. He jumped when he heard the grass crinkle under his footsteps. His quick heartbeat pulsed through his wrist, vibrating the thin skin on Antoni’s. He let Antoni lead him at least ten steps out toward the woods, but then stood still, and gave Antoni’s hand a squeeze— _That’s far enough_.

Jonathan had already taken off toward the lake. “He’s crazy,” Tan said. “He’ll get ticks.”

“He just might,” Antoni said. He tilted his head up toward the sky. Smoke was already trailing out of the chimney. “It's also pointless. Bobby’s too fast for him.”

“Story of our life. Let him be. He likes to help.”

“He does. He does help.” Antoni swung their hands, just a bit. “Can I ask you something?

“Yes, angel. I already have your bedspread picked out. You'll adore the kitchen.”

There was only a brief pause, long enough for Antoni to take a deep breath, inhaling night, exhaling tension, his hand melting more into Tan's, swinging back and forth with more abandon. “I think I see Cassiopeia.”

“Where?”

“That over there, see, that kind of zigzag shape?”

“Oh! I see it.”

Tan didn’t see it. If he wanted to be honest, which he didn't for the first time in recent memory, he couldn’t see much except just clumps of indiscriminate light up above. He could barely see their intertwined hands out in front of them.

But he took a step forward.

“Further?” Antoni asked, smiling at him in the moonlight.

“Further.”

As their feet crunched through more grass as they walked toward the water, Tan wondered when a bug would crawl up his leg, when Jonathan would come back from the darkness, what they would all do for the rest of the night, for the rest of the week, for the rest of the year. He didn’t know who was driving home, or what they would eat for breakfast tomorrow. He wasn’t sure where the North Star was, or what phase the moon was in. He was certain of one thing only—no matter how dark it was surrounding them, up above and down below, he could walk straight into it forever, as long as Antoni held his hand through it all.

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End file.
